


The Perks of Ruling a Kingdom

by plein_de_vie



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, Cosette And Enjolras Are Siblings, Courfeyrac being Courfeyrac, F/M, Falling In Love, Grantaire and Éponine are also siblings, Kings & Queens, Language of Flowers, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Princes & Princesses, Rating May Change, Tags May Change, Éponine is a badass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23490580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plein_de_vie/pseuds/plein_de_vie
Summary: As each kingdom had princes and princesses of age, each ruler was given the terms to agree upon.Prince Enjolras of Eteladia was to marry Princess Éponine of Lendaveth &Prince Grantaire of Lendaveth was to marry Princess Cosette of Eteladia.This was to be the way for the world to have peace...Or the Les Mis fantasy AU no one asked for.
Relationships: Combeferre/Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta
Comments: 25
Kudos: 52





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've been having the urge of developing a story like this for quite some time now, and I finally acted on it, so please enjoy!!
> 
> This is the prologue to the entire work, just for some specific background details and a quick set-up before the story happens!

Far across the raging seas, past the tallest mountains, beyond the driest desert, miles yonder the darkest forests, there lies a land. A land ruled by kings and queens, where dragons sleep, pirates plunder, and magic rules. 

In this land, different from the one accommodating you or I, two kingdoms reigned in close order to each other.  
The Kingdom of Eteladia,  
And the Kingdom of Lendaveth. 

One was ruled with care and dignity, by a man with honor and pride. The other was ruled with a mindset focused entirely on the gaining of wealth, yet no malice or ill intent aroused from the kingdom. Yet, even with these pleasant circumstances, peace was not promised. 

Conflicts between the two kingdoms, between peoples, broke out over the countryside. A lost pig was blamed on Eteladia, missing wheat put on Lendaveth, loose dogs attributed to Eteladia, whispers of dark magic enthralled Lendaveth, and so on. The people were restless, the small conflicts would always subside, but it was not long until a civil war was bound to break out. 

Sensing this, each kingdom sent one negotiator. They went with their demands, and were not to come back until a promise was reached. 

Days passed, then weeks. Letters were exchanged. Deals were made. Hands were shook. 

Marriage. Marriage, it was decided, was the only way to unite the kingdoms. 

As each kingdom had princes and princesses of age, each ruler was given the terms to agree upon. 

Prince Enjolras of Eteladia was to marry Princess Éponine of Lendaveth.  
Prince Grantaire of Lendaveth was to marry Princess Cosette of Eteladia. 

The wedding was to be grand, as nobles from across all lands were to gather for the occasion. 

The next two largest kingdoms, The Kingdom of Taleven and the Kingdom of Priren, were to send their two heirs to join the festivities: The young Prince Marius of Taleven and the cunning Prince Montparnasse of Priren. 

This was to be the way for the world to have peace.  
While King Valjean of Eteladia was a just and fair ruler, and he loved his darling children more than he could describe, he saw no other way to bring about peace. He agreed. That is, without discussing the terms with his children. It brought Valjean too much pain to see his children's eyes fill with sadness, therefore he made the decision on his own, with a heavy heart. He would tell them in time. 

It was not as difficult a decision for the Thénardiers who ruled Lendaveth. Their children had never meant much to them. One was adopted for the god's sake. They made the decision easily, also without involving their heirs. However, their inaction on the matter was not due to the pain they felt for their children, but for the pain their feet would have to bear if they must arise from their bed to find them. 

Ah yes, this seemed to be the only way to peace. 

A rather unpopular way, as it turns out, for the young nobles involved in the proposed marriages.

Yet, at this time, the heirs were still carefree and enjoying their youth…never knowing the harsh realities of adulthood were soon to find them. 

Let them have this time. 

Prince Enjolras, passionately giving speeches into his vanity mirror, hoping to one day change the world. 

Princess Cosette, composing her own lovely music, dreaming of the day she could share her life's work with another. 

Princess Éponine, learning to use a sword, wishing for a life without a bloody corset. 

And Prince Grantaire, painting portrait after portrait, desiring beyond belief to finally find his muse. 

Dear reader, let them have this time. For this time is quickly wasting away.


	2. Red Poppies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The arrangement is shared with the prince and princess of Eteladia. 
> 
> In other news, Combeferre and Courfeyrac are the best friends a messed up prince could ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter one! Hopefully it lives up to expectations. Don't worry, we'll meet those weirdos from Lendaventh soon, but for now, let's head to Eteladia ;)

“Oh papa, please tell me truthfully if this is a lie or not.”

A soft breeze coursed through the open window, rustling Cosette’s hair, making it fall prettily around her head. She looked more angelic than Enjolras had ever seen a person look, despite the ungodly hour, even with the unshed tears dampening her bright eyes. The light, white dressing gown she had been peacefully sleeping in hung loosely around her frame as her hands knitted together, forming a vice. 

“My love, I would not lie to you about such matters of importance. Please understand, I felt I had no other choice.” 

A beat passed, no words were spoken, then Cosette faltered. She stumbled backward, her legs giving out beneath her, into the arms of the two servants waiting by the door. Her eyes blinked rapidly, expelling tears against their will, as her mouth opened and closed silently pleading. The handmaiden that had escorted Cosette to their father's chambers ran to her, repeating instructions to inhale and exhale on her command. 

“Oh my dear, please-”

“Father! We do not know them, they do not know us,” She had regained her ability to stand, now looking wild, more and more like their mother had once looked. Her breath was ragged, each looked painful. Her handmaiden tried to will her to sit down, yet his sister wouldn’t have it. “Father, if you love us, you will not do this. I know you, you can change this!” The smile she gave didn’t reach her eyes, as she continued to silently cry. In her heart, she knew. Cosette knew this was a losing battle, their father had given Lendaveth his word, and their father's word would not so easily be broken.

“My child,” He took a breath, collecting himself, and continuing in a kingly voice, “you know I cannot.” 

Her face contorted, her eyes fell closed, and the tears fell freely now. Cosette’s dainty hand reached her lips before she could let out an audible sob.

“Dear, please, let me take you back to your chamber. You need rest. Everything will be better when you have a fresh mind.” Cosette’s handmaid had begged, as she motioned for the servants to help her mistress stand. The handmaid, Enjolras had once learned her name but it escaped him, opened her mouth in the direction of his father, but it appeared the urge to speak left her as quickly as it had come. One of the servants, the larger one, picked up Cosette and carried her as if she was his bride. Out of the room the four of them went, with the handmaiden fanning Cosette's forehead. 

“You’ve been awfully quiet. I must implore Enjolras, do you feel the same way as Cosette? I will not blame you if you do, you know that. I would only ask to hear your mind.” 

He straightened his back as he met the king's, his father’s, eyes. He couldn’t help but notice the exceptionally dark circles. Of course this hadn’t been an easy decision for him, he must have spent countless nights pondering over the terms. 

“You have made it clear we are not able to change your decision, therefore what would I have to say? If this is my princely duty, so be it.” The bite those words carried, he knew, would hurt his father greatly. 

“You do not mean that, son.” 

“I think I should go. I have to sleep. I wouldn’t want to be tired when I meet my bride.” He said with disdain. That was a lie. He wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. What he needed was Courfeyrac and Combeferre. 

“I won’t stop you then, if that is what you wish. One day, I hope you can understand why I did what I have done. One day soon, maybe we can discuss this further. You are my children, first and foremost-” Even with his back turned to his father, he could still tell there were tears running down his cheeks. 

“Oh don’t say that, sire. You have made it abundantly clear what comes first in your heart.” And with that hateful remark, he stepped out of his father’s chambers. 

“Do you need me to escort you, my pr---”

“No,” he said as he waved off the servant that followed him out of the king’s quarters. “Thank you.” 

The walk back to his own chamber seemed longer than it had before. Each step was battle. When he finally arrived at the door, he heard hushed voices. A relieved sigh unknowingly left his lips. He made sure to creak the old oak door as much as he could, to give them ample warning of his arrival. As he suspected, the voices stopped once he stepped into the low candle light of his room. Two men, both around his age, stood up suddenly when they saw him enter. One was tall and handsome, wearing a long dark blue robe, with round glasses perched precariously on the edge of his nose. The other was shorter, shorter than himself even, he was wearing a nightgown and had a messy mop of curly brown hair that surrounded his head. The large doe eyes of the second man seemed to look almost impossibly concerned. 

Combeferre and Courfeyrac. 

“Enj…” Combeferre had said carefully, pityingly. They must have heard the news. 

It was now he could feel the hot tears swim in his eyes. He refused to cry in front of his father. That was something a prince, an heir, didn’t do. Of course, that wasn’t a rule the king had enforced, rather the opposite, Enjolras had a list of rules for himself to follow. Rule #4: Never show personal emotion in front of anyone (except Cosette, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac, of course). 

“I can’t marry a woman-” He managed to squeak out as the sob, one he’d been holding in since he had received the order to go see his father, wracked his body.

“My love, I know my love,” Courfeyrac had softly spoken as he felt two pairs of arms hold him up and guide him to the bed. These were pet names, he hadn’t ever felt a romantic attraction towards either one of his two best friends, of course. This ended up working in his own favor, as he found out last year, Combeferre and Courfeyrac had been harboring a secret relationship for some years. He’d been angry, not due to the nature of the relationship, but due to the fact he had not been told for so long. It had taken many surprise visits of the two of them with pigeon pie to get him to relent his feelings. But Enjolras knew he was gay, he’d known it since he knew what romantic feelings were…Rule #1: You’re a prince, the heir. You need heirs yourself. Don’t be stupid. “Would you like to talk, or not?” 

Instead of an answer, he simply buried his head deeper in the crevice between the two warm bodies laying on his bed. 

“Ok.” Was the simple reply one of them said. His head was too busy buzzing for him to separate voices. 

They laid like that for some time, hours probably. Someone’s hands were unbraiding his long hair so they could run their fingers through it, another’s were rubbing soothing circles into the tight muscles of his shoulders. He felt the hot tears slowly subside, leaving only the salty tracks of where the tears had been as evidence to his condition. When he felt well enough to raise his head, bright sunlight rudely met his eyes. How long had he been crying? Had he fallen asleep? 

“Hi darling,” Came Courfeyrac’s small voice from above him. “What do you say to getting washed up, eh? I had Combeferre draw up a warm bath!” That was when he realized one of the pairs of arms had disappeared, leaving him awkwardly cradled by his smaller friend. He must have fallen asleep. It took Courfeyrac a second before he registered his miniscule nod. A bath sounded nice. 

Courfeyrac led him through the door to his washroom, usually he had some servants help him, but it seemed their jobs had been filled for the day. As promised, he was met with the sight of a steaming bath with flower petals. His favorite flower petals, he might mention, red poppies. His chambers were filled with vases upon vases of them. When they were younger, Courfeyrac, Combeferre and him would ride out to the edges of the castle grounds to collect bunches of the plants. The memory made him smile. Now, he was busier, he had meetings to attend to. He didn’t have time for poppies. The servants brought them back. 

“I know you don’t want me in here,” Courf had said, bringing him back to the present. “I’ll be waiting with Combeferre outside that door with breakfast. Call us when you’re done, love.” He must have sensed Enjolras’ question as he added, “Oh, and don’t worry about our schedules today. Feuilly got Bahorel to cover my guarding shift, and the infirmary understood that Ferre needed to be here today. Apparently Cosette isn’t faring much better, she’s being looked after too.” A sad smile was all Courf could manage as he stepped into the other room, shutting the door behind him. 

Enjolras sunk slowly into the bath, the flower petals swirling towards the sides of the tub. His hair was oily from the fingers that had been run through it all night, but it didn’t bother him as much as he would have thought. As he laid his head back, calming thoughts of his childhood flooded his memory. He hadn’t let himself do this lately, it wasn’t “princely” in his mind. 

He thought about Courf, Ferre and him pretending to battle dragons when they were six. That had led to a lot of scraped knees, and in one case, a busted lip. Enjolras cracked a smile at that memory. Corfeyrac had come to protect Ferre from the “fearsome” dragon, which Cosette was playing the role of. That was just like him, Courf had always known he wanted to be a knight, ever since he was a little kid. Once the “battle” had commenced, Cosette had shown to be a lot better at sword fighting than anyone had imagined. In a flurry of wooden swords and elbows, he had suddenly yelped out in pain. Cosette leaped back, terrified of what she had done. When Ferre ran to examine him, his lip was dribbling out a slight bit of blood, and Courf was already crying. He buried his head in Combeferre’s handkerchief, which caused Cosette to start tearing-up too. She had run to Enjolras, only older by a year, and he remembered having no idea what to do. Ferre had given him a pleading look, as Courf clawed at his sleeve. They decided it was best to walk back to the infirmary, with Courfeyrac having to be picked up by Combeferre. However, once they had started the walk, Courf seemed to miraculously improve. He, of course, denied having cried, as “Knights don’t cry!”

Cosette and Courf had hugged for a long time, and that seemed to mend the hurt. That’s how a lot of their problems used to be fixed; a hug. He missed those days. 

The water slowly turning frigid brought him back to reality. He braided his hair into a long golden braid that fell easily to one side of his neck. A few pieces fell away, he had to ask Cosette her tricks on that matter, he reminded himself as he tucked them behind his ears. The clothes Ferre had left for him were easily his most comfortable outfit: a soft white shirt, black silk pants, along with a deep purple robe. He dressed slowly, and went to open the oak door leading to his bedchambers. 

He had forgotten to call for either of their help, if he had, they probably would have switched positions. They didn’t often show affection for each other in his company. He understood, they didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, but he never would have cared. He knew, they didn’t want to emphasize the fact they could choose who they wanted to love, he couldn't. In this moment, Courf’s head leaned flush against where Ferre’s heart would be, as Ferre rocked him slowly back and forth. The smaller man’s eyes were closed, and it wasn’t until a few steps in, he realized Ferre was singing to him, gently. Of course they were tired, they must have not slept last night. 

“Don’t move on my account, please.” He said softly, throwing his dirty clothes in the wicker basket by his window. Regardless, Courf startled awake and jumped away from Ferre’s grasp.

“Oh love, you should have said something,” Courfeyrac replied nervously. “Here, we had breakfast brought up. The kitchens even made a sweet little fruit platter, on accounts of…of--the news.” He finished slowly. 

“That was very kind of them. I should go down to thank them.” Enjolras sat on the opposite side of Combeferre as Courf placed the tray of food on his lap. He just stared at the fruit for a bit, before Combeferre hesitantly placed the fork in his hand. 

Silence followed, he ate slowly, feeling Combeferre’s eyes on him during every bite. That was, until giggling could be heard coming from where Courfeyrac was standing. 

“Do you remember…” His smaller friend had started, before he began laughing hysterically. 

“What?” Combeferre had said with a smile and light laugh as he rotated his eyes away from Enjolras to where his partner was standing. 

“Do you remembe--” Courf broke out laughing again, happy tears starting to prick at the corners of his eyes. 

“Gods, Courf, do we remember what?” Giggled Enjolras through a mouthful of strawberries. His first real smile that morning, and for a bit, he forgot about his situation. Usually he wouldn’t speak with his mouth full, he had classes upon classes about royal manners that told him not to, but these two were the exception. 

“When we were 14 and Ferre saw that pineapple for the first time, and was trying to impress that old guy in charge of the library, and he bit through the skin,” Courf busted out laughing again. His eyes crinkled at the corners, his nose behaving in the same manor. Combeferre had reddened at the memory, but he looked amused with the scene Courfeyrac was making. “And then he apologized, and--.” Courf couldn’t finish his thought as he collapsed on the bed, next to Enjolras, cackling. 

By this time, Enjolras had set down his tray on the floor, as he grabbed his stomach to stop himself from laughing too hard. Of course he remembered that! They’d only talked about it for years after! Ferre reached down and ruffled Courf’s hair, then positioned himself so he had his arms around both boys. Once the roaring laughter had subsided, all three were quiet in the happy bliss they’d created. 

“We’re going to be ok.” Enjolras stated quietly. So quietly in fact, at first, he doubted anyone had heard him. 

“Of course we are, love. We are going to be just fine. All of us.” 

“Enjolras, you know, you’ll always have Courf and I. Always. No matter what happens, we’re going to be here. Where you go, we go, kid. Like it or not.” 

He was a prince. Courfeyrac was a knight, and Combeferre worked in the castle infirmary. By all accounts, they were his subjects. He could have had Ferre arrested for calling him “kid” or for stroking his back. Courf could have been banished for petting his hair or laying on his bed. But that wasn’t what they were, and they never had been, and they never would be. Combeferre with his arms around them both and Courfeyrac’s head resting on his shoulder, as they watched the clouds out the curved window, they were equals. These were his best friends. Someday he would change the stigma surrounding royals, that he had decided a long time ago. He was a friend of the people, just as the people had been a friend to him. 

Of course he was going to be ok. He could handle this. The only questions on his mind, what were Princess Éponine and Prince Grantaire thinking? And what would they think of him and Cosette?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a slideshow of aesthetic mash-ups for some of the characters! Just a little taste of how I sort of view them. I hope the link works, if it doesn't, feel free to shout it out and I'll see what I can do to fix it!! Some of the characters haven't been introduced yet, and I haven't made a slide for some (namely, my lovely trio of Chetta, Joly, and Bossuet). 
> 
> https://www.canva.com/design/DAD4hiphciE/8TfgWMsuvVaYwhoke3pVfw/edit
> 
> The link will be updated throughout the work as we role along!


	3. Lilies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Éponine's way of dealing with news differs greatly from Grantaire's.
> 
> In other news, Jehan deserves the world and the wonder trio makes an appearance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 3! I got it done sooner than I expected:)   
> Welcome to Lendaveth!

Her hits violently shook the barn, causing dust and cobwebs to be jolted from their previous resting places. Unfortunately, for Grantaire, it was not simply the dredge of the barn that was disturbed by Éponine’s anger. 

“Éponine, please,” He droned from the hayloft he had been, previously, sleeping in. “I’m nursing a headache here.” Without opening his eyes, his hand waved loosely in the air, still paint stained, and still holding the bottle that put him in his current condition. 

Silence, besides the dull thud of a blunt sword hitting wood met his ears. 

“Really dear, that’s no way for a future queen to act,” By all accounts, he was joking, it wasn’t until after he said it he realized Éponine was not in the mood. The thumping ceased. He was met with a defeated sign.

“Grantaire, this does not just affect me. I have never had, or have, the intention of getting married,” She scoffed. “And you! You have never had, or have, the intention of getting married. Lest of all to a woman.” She finished in a harsh whisper, her head popping into view from the hayloft, she must be standing on the ladder. Her brown eyes looked dangerous, but her bright red lipstick was still perfectly in place.

This was their third day after hearing the dreadful news. The first had been filled with violent screams and threats from his sister. He had drank. The second involved her trying to use reason, trying to coax their way out. He had drunk more. Now, it appeared, she had resorted to physical measures to take her anger out. 

“You realize we leave in 2 days. They told us 3 days ago, that’s not even a full fortnight of warning! They simply cannot do this.” 

“Ah dear sister, but they can.” 

“We should run away.” Her words were becoming distant, like she was becoming lost in her mind, a place Grantaire wouldn’t dare to go. 

“And have half the country searching for us, while the other half makes plans to murder us? No, that doesn’t sound very enticing…” Grantaire paused, looking up at the cracks in the wooden barn roof. If there was one thing he knew he could do very well, it was making his sister smile. And while the shock hadn’t settled with him yet, more so than he cared to admit, he would have to play the part of uncaring, for Éponine’s sake.

“Which one was mine again? I’m forgetting…do I get the fair, blushing, blonde-haired, blue-eyed maiden? Or is that one yours?” A tiny smile graced her red lips, as she made their first eye contact of the whole encounter. “I dare say, the issue might not be getting to know them, but telling them apart!” Grantaire mocked, in his best impression of Javert. One of the many advisors they had the “privilege” of speaking with over the last few days. Éponine’s harsh facade broke, as she let out a terribly adorable snort. She always hated her laugh, but Grantaire found it charming. He found many things charming about his sister. The fact that she was as much a princess as he was, never failed to make him smirk. 

“So you did read about them…apparently they’re supposed to be dreadfully beautiful,” Éponine remarked, as she climbed the rest of the ladder to clamber into the hayloft, dragging Grantaire’s head into her lap as she did so. She started running her fingers through his greasy hair, before adding, “Gods, you smell awful. You need a bath.” 

“You’ve been described as one of the ‘prime beauties of the century’, may I remind you,” He chided, ignoring her addition about his current state. “I, on the other hand, look better attuned to being a pig farmer than a prince. Let’s have a moment of pity for our dear, lovely Cosette.” 

“Grantaire, you’re young and fit and strapping, and I won’t hear another word against yourself,” A light kiss was placed on his forehead. “Now, get up, Jehan has been worried sick.” 

“You changed your tune rather fast, was my humor that good? You were the princess just beating the daylights out of our barn, weren’t you?” He quipped, swiveling his upper body forward, so he was sitting upright. 

“Yes,” Any remaining ounce of humor in her voice had dissipated. “But I felt alone, and now I do not.” She said swiftly, tumbling to the ground as she jumped down from the hayloft, forgoing the ladder. It was a good thing Éponine didn’t wear dresses, unless she was forced at swordpoint. She fell, and jumped in puddles, and walked too long of distances for a dress to keep up with her. Nay, now she looked like a vicious pirate queen, like the one’s off the coast of Floredian Bay. 

Prince Enjolras really doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, thought Grantaire. 

He followed Éponine out of the barn and into the shady fields surrounding their castle. It had taken him a few minutes to regain his footing, but she had only sighed, and supported him until he was proper again. For as long as he could remember, it had always just been him and Éponine. Technically, he wasn’t even her “real” brother, as he had been left on the backdoor of the palace when he was only first born. The servant who discovered him brought him to the king and queen immediately, and while they paid no mind to him, Javert (their top advisor) saw potential. The queen had been in a terrible carriage accident, mere weeks after the birth of their first child, that doctors decided had left her barren. This was a problem, as the couple’s first born was a girl. The accident had been kept hushed, and so had the arrival of baby Grantaire. The servant was offered immediate leave, with a lifetime supply of gold, if they told no one else about the origins of the baby. The decision was made easier by the fact that, on the other side of the deal, was death. Javert used his influence to convince the king and queen, who were not very bright by any means, to agree. Thus, they took baby Grantaire in as their own, and he became a prince. On top of that, not only did he become a prince, but the heir. 

Javert had made sure to tell him the story the first second Grantaire could understand what the words meant. Just to remind him of his place. To remind him, regardless of his title, he was still nothing. And to cement the fact that, if Javert so desired, he could take away all he had with a mere few words. This was the final piece of Javert’s plot to rule the Kingdom of Lendaveth one day, but Grantaire was young and didn’t care much about that (not as much as he should, he found out later). Of course Grantaire had told Éponine about his birth, who had said she didn’t care. She was still his brother, and still the heir, according to her. 

So Grantaire had convinced himself this was the best case scenario. Once the son of a nobody, who left him on a stoop, and now the heir of a kingdom. He was engaged to a beautiful princess, or so he heard, and they would live in magnificent splendor for as long as they desired. Everything was perfect, save one, tiny, insignificant detail. Grantaire couldn’t love a woman, not in the way most men could. Oh, and he had tried. He had tried quite a bit. Still, he found his secret, consensual, midnight romps with one of the stable boys more to his liking. In fact, he found it was the only thing that was to his liking. 

Even though he told Éponine everything, he couldn’t bring himself to disclose it, his sexuality, to her. It would be like he was admitting it, and he couldn't bring that pain to himself, knowing he could never act on it. Don’t get him wrong, homosexuality was fine in the kingdom. Being an LGBTQ+ person was never looked down upon, hells, his best friend (besides Éponine) was genderfluid. 

“It all depends on how the lilies grow, of course!” Jehan had responded brightly when Grantaire had tentatively asked about it. 

Any way you wanted to love or identfy was perfectly ok in practically every kingdom nowadays, but that wasn’t the same for a royal. If you were a royal, you needed heirs, and if you were gay, that was a harder feat to complete. Anyway, Éponine had followed him for a week (she had her suspicions something was up) before she caught him in a very compromising position with another boy. It had taken days for Éponine to look at him without picturing the flurry of naked body parts she had seen, and it had taken a full week for Grantaire to be able to look at her without envisioning her face when she had. When they were, finally, able to be adults about the situation, Éponine gave him the biggest hug and promised him everything would be ok, that they would somehow figure something out. Of course that would never come to pass, as he was now engaged, to a woman, and apparently it was a matter of world peace. Why these old men put important worldly matters on the backs of a drunkard not-quite-prince and his ferocious, independent, not-at-all-princess sister, still stumps him. 

No, in his heart he couldn’t love a woman. But he could pretend. 

Grantaire had done a lot of pretending in his life. He pretended he drunk for the fun, and not because he needed to forget. He pretended he didn’t rely on Éponine as much as he very clearly did. He pretended the origins of his birth didn’t weigh on him every second of every day. He pretended he was perfectly fine. And he would be damned if he stopped pretending now- 

“Well there’s my darling prince and princess!” A sweet voice came. It wasn’t until the silence had been broken that he now saw Jehan gliding towards them with a large smile. Their long auburn hair was intricately braided with flowers from the gardens, and the white dress they were wearing fluttered softly in the wind. All was complemented by the halo of turquoise butterflies that surrounded their head. 

Jehan had been practicing with magic since some Lendaveth knights had found them living in a hut with an old witch. When the knights found them, the witch clapped her hands and disappeared, leaving only toddler Jehan smiling up at the men and women in armor. Legend has it that when Jehan first cried in the arms of the knight that picked them up, they cried tears of liquid sunshine. But when anyone asks Jehan about it, including Grantaire, they only giggle and smile a wide smile. Not one person, even Javert, really remembers how Jehan came to live at the castle, one day they were just here. No one asks. No one dares. Jehan still periodically disappears into the woods for extended periods of time, and always comes back knowing a little more about magic than when they left. Everyone turns a blind eye. No one asks. No one dares… 

“Here we are!” Repeated Éponine as she gathered Jehan into a hug. 

“Feeling better?” They ask, untangling from the princess, and chancing a glance at Grantaire. He smiles tiredly back at them, it’s hard to not smile around Jehan. Whether that’s the magic or not, no one knows. 

“Feeling like we’ll be able to handle this.” 

“Good, I’m glad,” They placed one of their hands with each royal and squeezed, “Joly sent me, you both need to get a little shot-”

“Aw, does Eteladia have worms we need to be careful of?” Mocked Grantaire before receiving a light tap on his knuckles from Jehan and Éponine at the same time. Jehan was still wistfully smiling, but Éponine’s tap was met with an unimpressed eyebrow raise.

“No, but apparently there’s a nasty case of dragon's breath that’s appearing along the road to Eteladia, and Joly doesn’t want you to be sick when you arrive. Chetta, Bossuet, Joly and I have all been vaccinated, just in case…” Jehan trailed off, looking sheepish. “Well, you know! Just in case you wanted any of us to come. But no pressure, none of us expect anything, we understand if you wanted it to be priva---” 

Éponine raised her hand to quiet Jehan. Her and Grantaire hadn’t discussed who they wanted coming in their party, but he knew they both agreed. 

“Jehan, of course you will all be coming with us. As Chetta is our personal knight, we couldn’t leave the kingdom without her, even if we wanted to-”

“And why in all the hells would we want to?” Grantaire cut in. It was true, Muschietta was one of the world’s most renowned fighters. She won her first jousting contest when she was just 10 years old, and from that point on, she pledged her service to the, then, 8 year old Grantaire and Éponine, the heirs of Lendaveth. 

“Right, we need Chetta with us. Bossuet knows about my food allergies, and a princess simply cannot rely on the kitchens of another kingdom to suit her needs properly. And Joly is our traveling apothecary, therefore we need him too and-” 

Éponine was cut off again, but not by Grantaire. 

“Of course. I expected they would come! There’s not a single hard feeling, I wouldn’t add anything to the party, and I would simply be an extra burden-” The flowers embedded in their hair started to slowly wilt as their rant continued. Éponine tried many times to butt her way back in the conversation, but Jehan simply would not stop talking. That is… 

“Silence, Jehan! I command it,” Éponine said calmly, but sternly. Jehan quieted. “If you had let me finish, I was going to say, you’re the most important piece of our company. You keep us sane, and collected and, for lack of a better word, happy. And throughout the emotional trials the next few months will propose, we need you there to help us lift our spirits.” 

Jehan had quieted, in fact, so had Grantaire. Éponine didn’t realize, but in times like this she sounded so exceedingly like a queen, it was almost laughable. His sister hadn’t been raised with leadership in mind, that had been his job. He was destined to be king someday, but Éponine was different. Éponine WAS a queen, and she always had been. She merely hasn’t seen it. 

“Of course,” Jehan whispered out, still looking enamored with the way she had spoken. “I would be honored to accompany you two.” 

“It does help having a magic-them on our team as well,” Grantaire said, winking at Jehan. 

“Grantaire, I’ve told you! I’m not magic, just very attuned with the world!” Laughed Jehan as the flowers in their hair regained their usual beauty. 

Jehan fell into place between Éponine and Grantaire when they began walking towards the castle as dusk crept over the hills. They linked their arms between them. Grantaire looked down to see the “birthmarks”, as Jehan called them, moving slowly over their skin. They were green pictures, scenes of historical marriages, births, and happy events. Each was rotating slowly eastward, THAT facet of the detailed pictures, was what Jehan found odd about them. They were an odd person. They covered their entire body, as Grantaire had once been permitted to examine them. Only once. 

When they came into view of the castle, he caught a glance of Joly pacing nervously between Bossuet and Chetta, holding a bag of medical equipment in his hands. Chetta was leaning against a wall of the castle, balancing her sword on the palm of her metal hand, while Bossuet looked lovingly over the hills towards the sunset. 

When Joly caught sight of the trio, he started towards them as fast as he could go, before promptly tripping over a root. He didn’t quite hit the ground, as Chetta had leapt forward to catch him from behind, and Bossuet threw himself to the ground to catch him from below. 

“Oh Joly!” Gasped Jehan, as they broke out of the grasp they had on both royals. 

“Think we stressed out Joly enough…” Laughed Éponine. 

Grantaire didn’t say anything, but he smiled, as he stopped walking to examine the scene his friends were making.

Oh yeah. Eteladia had no idea what was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got this chapter done relatively fast, but the next full update shouldn't be expected until later this week! I have something I'm going to release tomorrow, but it's not a full chapter. You'll just have to wait and see;) 
> 
> I'll update the aesthetic slideshow with the Joly/Muschietta/Bossuet slide pretty soon
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Attached is the link to the slideshow <3
> 
> https://www.canva.com/design/DAD4hiphciE/8TfgWMsuvVaYwhoke3pVfw/edit


	4. Roses: Marius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “One of those Romantics, with a capital R”.
> 
> In other news, Marius is falling in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is!! 
> 
> I'm going to disperse these mini chapters in every once in awhile, just so we get a more in-depth look at some internal thoughts of our beloved side characters. 
> 
> I present: Our rose, Mr. lovestruck Marius.

_Prince Marius of Taleven,_

_You have hereby been invited to attend the Crown Ball, held in the Kingdom of Eteladia, to celebrate the engagement of:_

__

__

_Prince Enjolras, heir to Eteladia, and Princess Éponine of Lendaveth_  


_&  
_

__

____

____

_Prince Grantaire, heir to Lendaveth, and Princess Cosette of Eteladia_

____

_We hope to have the honor of your attendance._

____

____

Cosette was a lovely name, he thought, gazing out the window. So was Éponine…and Enjolras and Grantaire, he supposed. They all had such lovely, lovely names. 

Of course he would attend the ball, it would be the highlight of his Spring! Marius had always loved engagements, and courtships, and weddings. He’d loved them since he was a boy. Maybe, he wished, while he was at this ball, he could find a lady to court! He had always dreamed of finding someone to love, so he could bring her flowers. Specifically roses, he’d always loved the way roses had made people feel. He’d been told by his mother from a very young age he was; 

“One of those Romantics, with a capital R”. 

Roses started with an R too!

Speaking of dreams, a lovely lady had been plaguing, well he says plaguing like her visits were unwelcome, when they were the farthest from it! A beautiful woman had been appearing in his dreams of late. She held herself in a fine manner, with long, wavy blonde hair, and stunningly blue eyes. Her laugh could rival the prettiest song birds and her way of speaking could be mistaken with poetry. Yet, Marius knew that was not all, she had a side of her that was more stunning than her outward appearance could show. He could just sense it… 

But he was being silly afterall, this woman was only a woman of his dreams. 

That night, the woman appeared in his dreams again. Everything was as it should’ve been, her laugh, and smile, and hair, and the thing Marius couldn’t quite put his finger on…but this time was different when he awoke. This time, he had a single word on his lips. 

_Cosette._

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full update coming later this week. If you're reading, thanks for sticking with this silly work;)


	5. Magnolia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The royals of Eteladia have two months once they arrive. 
> 
> In other news, Cosette is a dreadfully smart person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Slightly) shorter chapter here! Sorry for the long wait, the next chapter will be released sooner;)

She felt exhausted. 

Physically, emotionally, mentally… 

All of the above. The last night, filled with angry curses and crying, had been less than ideal. 

In the morning, she’d been told by, well, one of her handmaidens that Enjolras wasn’t doing great either. Ok, in all actuality, she hadn’t been told exactly that. She’d been told that, 

“Apparently, Sir Courfeyrac and Mister Combeferre have been in there since the news was told. They’ve had to make a special run to the kitchen _and _,” The handmaiden emphasized the last word, leaning in close to Cosette, as if a major secret was being spilt. “Feuilly asked Bahorel if he would take Sir Courfeyrac’s guarding position for the day. Which Bahorel, being the kind Sir he is, said yes to! _And_ ,” She emphasized the last word again, which set Cosette’s teeth on edge. “Apparently--”__

____

____

“Yes alright. That’s enough gossip for one day.” She cut in, curtly. Usually, she knew, she was one of the most agreeable people in the castle. She got along with everyone, or at least, she did a very good impression of getting along with everyone. That was something her mother had taught her. 

_“Darling, even when you’ve had the most rotten, horrid, terrible day of your life, and someone bows to you, do you know what you do back?” Cosette had shook her head, she really didn’t know what you were supposed to do. “You curtsy back, or bow…whatever you choose. I’ve always found the traditional women’s way of greeting rather annoying.” Her mother had added gently, with a smile as she put a finger under her chin to direct Cosette’s gaze into her eyes. “And you do not do that just because you are a princess. You do that because that’s how you treat people.” Her mother added seriously, holding her gaze with an intense stare. ___

____

____

In this moment, she missed her mother more than she ever thought possible. 

Immediately she regretted her tone, as the handmaiden jerked her head away with frightened eyes. 

“Oh my lady, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to--” 

Cosette raised her delicate hand, to tell the woman to stop talking, hoping the handmaiden couldn’t see the slight tremble of her fingers. 

“There is no need to apologize. In fact, I should be apologizing to you. I’m very sorry I snapped at you,” She said sincerely, watching as the woman’s posture physically uncurled from fear. “If you wouldn’t mind leaving me, I think I shall work on my music. Do you mind telling the rest of the staff I wish to be undisturbed?” 

“Oh it would be my honor, your highness. Please allow me to do that!” An appreciative smile spread across her fat cheeks. “Will you require any additional assistance with preparing for the day? I know the handmaiden that waits on Lady Luthen does the most amazing brai--” 

“Please, no,” Cosette cut in. Softening her tone before she snapped again. “No, if you would just alert the staff I wish to be left undisturbed. That is,” She added as the handmaiden nodded to leave. “Unless Prince Enjolras comes to visit. Let him in, of course.” 

“Of course, my dearest lady.” The handmaiden finished with a low curtsy. 

_You do that because that’s how you treat people. ___

____

____

Cosette bowed back.

*

The rest of her morning and into the afternoon was spent with her harp. 

The gold-tinged strings moved between her fingers like they had been specifically sculpted for that purpose. Music filled the room, and if she hadn’t been so focused on playing, it seemed the birds singing outside were chirping intune. 

“Cozy, that was,” Enjolras decided to leave the rest of the sentence hanging in the air, sufficing with a mere handwave to display his impression. 

She startled as he spoke from behind her. Just slightly. If you hadn’t been Enjolras, you probably wouldn’t have noticed. Small movements, she’d been told, came naturally to her, after years and years of practice, that is. 

“Thank you Enj,” She swiveled from her position towards the window to face her brother. She took in his disheveled appearance with care, as Enjolras didn’t often let himself look disheveled. His hair seemed quite oily. Probably from fingers running through it, she thought to herself. Probably Courf, she clarified further. His eyes were red rimmed and puffy. He had been crying too it seemed, but not for a while. “Come here.” She opened her arms and motioned for him to fall into them. 

He crossed the room, not with his usual stride, but with a small gait that could border on being referred to as frightened. And _that _was something she did not call her brother lightly.__

____

____

“Oh Cozy…I can’t marry a woman. You know that.” He muttered, muffled by his face pressed into her shoulder. 

“Yes, I know,” She did know. Enjolras was gay, and had knew that since he was practically able to talk. She had thought maybe he would have gotten into a relationship with Courf, or Ferre, or both. But turns out he had never felt more than a deep friendship with the two of them. Plus, with the two boys themselves being in a relationship, and a very loving one at that, it didn’t seem the place for Enjolras. “Why don’t we take a walk in the garden?” Her smile met his blue eyes gazing up at her from where his head was placed. Enjolras simply nodded. 

*

Cosette was still upset. More upset than she could describe in words. She felt betrayed, as her father had always been against the notion of arranged marriages. She felt angry, because this marriage would absolutely not be based off love. And she felt scared, scared because she was being given away to a man, Grantaire, she didn’t know the first thing about. 

But she couldn’t show that. Not now, or ever again as she had last night. For the sake of Enjolras who, while he was the prince, was decidedly more scared about this than she was. For the sake of her people, who trusted this marriage to promote peace within the warring countries. For her father, who certainly was raking himself over the coals for this ordeal. And for her mother. Her mother, who--

Cosette hadn’t even realized her feet had carried her to the garden before the warm wind met her face and she was startled out of her trance. Enjolras was a few feet in front of her, closing his eyes and inhaling slowly. 

“Enj,” She paused. “I’m going to go to papa and agree to being married-” 

“What?” He cut her off. His head snapped towards hers, his eyes widening with fear as she spoke. “Cozy, we can fight this! We can rally the people behind us! It’s unfair, and it shouldn’t happen!” He was verging on shouting. It was a good thing the gardens were all but abandoned at this time. 

“Enj, I know you’re scared. Don’t deny it,” She added quickly when she saw his mouth open to retort. “And we will find a way for you,” She stopped. Well what could they do? Did he want to marry a man? Or no one at all? She’d never actually thought her brother was capable of feeling a romantic attachment, but she couldn’t say that. That sounded quite rude. “Do you want to marry a man, Enj?” She asked inquisitively, with a change of tone. 

Enjolras was taken aback for a second, probably thinking to himself. “If I _loved _him. Yes, I would,” He said finally. “It’s not illegal or anything. It’s only because I’m a prince.” He added spitefully.__

____

____

“Then we’ll find a way for you to marry a man! There’s a ball happening, there’s bound to be loads of gentlemen there!” 

“Yes, but if you agree to marrying the prince, won’t I have to agree to marrying the princess?” 

“Well, we would agree, but with stipulations. If this guy, Prince Grantaire, is violent, papa will certainly not make me marry him. Even with the promise of peace, he would never risk my safety, that I know.” A plan was forming in her mind. “Ok! We agree, but only if we get two months to get to know them. You know the plan was for the wedding to occur as soon as they’ve gotten here? Preposterous. So we have two months to figure it out. What we want to do about it, the whole situation, that is.”

“Will the King agree?” 

“Father, Enjolras, or papa. Don’t call him ‘the King’, that’s barbaric. And yes, he will agree. If we say we will promise to give them a chance,” Enjolras looked skeptical. “Enj, it’ll give us two more months of time to figure out what to do. It’s not much, but it’s as good as we’re going to do.” She added, desperately hoping he’d agree. 

“Alright,” He said with downcast eyes. “I can see how that would be good. We have two months, once we meet them, to figure out what we’re going to do,” He repeated slowly to himself. She rolled her eyes, isn’t that what she just said? “Ok Cozy, let's do it.” 

She grinned. This could work. 

And then something caught her eye, just out of the corner. A tall treelike plant, with light pink flowers. 

“Oh Enj, look where we’ve walked to. I didn’t even realize.” 

Enjolras had stopped to stare at it as well. “I miss her.” He added after a beat of silence. 

“Me too.” Cosette responded quietly. They had, unintentionally, walked to the magnolia tree in the gardens. It had been their mother's favorite plant. She used to read to them under it, and sing to them, and draw. They’d done everything under this same plant. “You know what it symbolizes, right?” 

Enjolras was silent, just staring at the tree…maybe he didn’t hear her. 

“Strength,” She said quietly. The branches of the trees rustled, probably due to the wind, but she couldn’t help feeling like her mother was there with her. “Strength.” She said louder, in a commanding voice. 

“Strength,” Enjolras repeated back to her. “How fitting.”

*

They walked hand in hand towards their father’s chambers with a newfound goal. 

Two months, she repeated in her head. They had two months to figure out what to do once their arranged partners arrived. They could handle this, the voice in her head added shakily. 

The two guards at the door immediately let them in. Cosette thought she might have seen something unreadable pass in one of the guards eyes, but pushed that thought away. 

When they entered, they were not met with the sight they had been expecting to see. 

“Father-” Enjolras started before he glanced at Cosette, unsure of how to continue. 

Their father was sitting at his desk, head in his hands, no trace of smile on his face, red rimmed eyes slowly panning up to meet their gazes. 

“Children, please. If we’re going to discuss the marriages further, please allow me to clean up before,” His voice was ragged, filled with sorrow. “I’m sorry, I’m in no condition for viewing. If I knew you were coming I would have changed.” In all honesty, this was as rough as she had ever seen her father before. His shirt was wrinkled, that might have been from the way his closed fist bit into the sides of it, she realized. 

“Oh papa,” She began in a kind tone. As she continued, she only put a slight strength in her voice. If her papa was the person she thought she knew, he would agree to this in an instant. “We’ve come with a proposition.”

She continued to tell her father of their stipulation. He grimaced when she brought up the fact that one of the two might be violent, but continued to nod. Enjolras agreed, silently, beside her as she spoke. She felt the passion in her voice rise as she continued telling of their plan, and when she was finished, the room was silent. 

“This is what mama would have wanted. She would want us to get to know them before we’re bound to them for life.” Cosette uttered as she reached her hand out to grasp her father’s. His eyes met hers, tears in them.

“Of course she would. Of course you can have the time. And if Lendaveth doesn’t agree, I’ll personally wage war on them myself.” He said, smiling a sorrowful smile at the both of them. Cosette smiled back. This was her father, first and foremost. 

“They’ll agree.” Muttered Enjolras.

Both their gazes shifted to him. He was looking at his shoes, wringing his hands nervously before meeting their stares. 

“Come here, son.” Her papa let go of one of her hands to motion for Enjolras to come nearer. 

That's how they stood for a long while. Hand in hand. Smiling. _Together. ___

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look out for the next chapter soon! It's a longer one, containing the (almost always) delightful mischief that those kiddos coming from Lendaveth get into:D


	6. Black Bat Orchid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The royals from Lendaveth are only one day away from meeting their future spouses. 
> 
> In other news, Joly is obsessed with mounting blocks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH, I'm so glad I got this out before the weekend ended! (That was my goal :P) 
> 
> Anyway, I know I've been taking this kind of slow, but everyone's going to meet in the next chapter I _promise. ___

“Yes, yes. Very well,” A disdainful sigh followed. “Have a very _safe _trip.”__

__“Remember, if there’s anything smaller than a pocket watch and it’s shiny, take it.” The man in front of them drawled. “It’s not stealing if they’re going to be your spouses soon!” Both man and woman delightedly cackled, a horrid sound._ _

__“Ah yes, that’s mummy and daddy. How nurturing!” Grantaire whispered in his sister’s ear as they turned around to board the waiting carriage._ _

__Despite the stingey nature of their parents, someone; probably Javert, convinced the king and queen to let them use their finest carriage to get to Eteladia. This was, of course, due to the extreme importance of their first impression, as Javert had lectured them on. Grantaire couldn’t help but audibly scoff at that, as anyone that knew him or Éponine, was bound to know they would mess that up themselves the second they opened their mouths. However, the carriage was gorgeous, after all. He couldn’t deny that. Its’ silver edging perfectly complemented the midnight black exterior, along with the stunning silver sculpted bat orchid that perched upon the crest._ _

__The black bat orchid was the sigil of their family. Every kingdom had a specific flower that was the sign of their house._ _

__Oh Gods in hell, let’s see if he could remember them. Despite Éponine’s insistence that he hadn’t paid attention in any of their Classic Kingdom History lessons, he _had learned them once.__ _

___Lendaveth: Black Bat Orchid, symbolising ambition.  
Taleven: Red Carnation, symbolising pure love.   
Priren: Blue Dahlia, symbolizing dignity.   
Eteladia: Purple Aster, symbolising true royalty. _ _ _

___There. He still had it in him._ _ _

___Of course, no one put stock in the sigils anymore. Not really. Given, he had heard stories of the royals from Taleven falling in love much too easily, and those from Priren being quickly offended, but ambition and _true royalty _? No, he wouldn’t believe in them. He hadn’t throughout his childhood, and he won’t now. Now, if he was Jehan…if he was Jehan, then he would put more stock in them than they were worth. But that was Jehan, after all.___ _ _

_____“Chetta! You have to keep an eye on him! He doesn’t ride as good as you!” A frightened voice startled Grantaire out of his deep thoughts. Joly was plastered to the open carriage window, biting his nails, watching as Bossuet swung himself messily onto a horse._ _ _ _ _

_____“You have nothing to fear Joly! The smoke that the wormwood released this morning looked very positive.” Jehan said with a bright smile._ _ _ _ _

_____“Ah yes, the wormwood…great.” Joly repeated absently with knitted brows, turning his body away from the window._ _ _ _ _

_____The absolute mess it was to get everything, and everyone, loaded into the carriage was laughable._ _ _ _ _

______When they first entered, Éponine sat on his right while Joly and Jehan sat across from them. The small toad Jehan was petting seemed to be (one) of the main causes for Joly’s uneasiness._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Oh Joly! Is he upsetting you?” Jehan asked, eyes widening with worry when he noticed the look on Joly’s face._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Oh no, he’s fine Jehan.” Joly grimaced._ _ _ _ _ _

______Everyone could tell he was lying. And without speaking another word, Jehan threw the toad as far as he could out the open window. Grantaire shouted as Joly screamed and Éponine gasped._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Oh don’t be silly, see!” Jehan giggled at their horrified faces and pointed to something in the distance. Where the toad was supposed to hit the ground, no unsatisfying thump ever came. Instead, a beautiful golden eagle burst from the grass and soared high above the carriage. “He’ll follow us to Eteladia. We’ve been working on that for awhile now!” They said, not acknowledging the shocked look on their friends faces._ _ _ _ _ _

______“Well, well then. Ok, yes, I suppose, that’s very impressive.” Joly muttered, turning to look out the window. “Oh gods, Chetta! Chetta, make him be careful!” Another gasp from Joly. “Chetta! You have to keep an eye on him! He doesn’t ride as good as you!” ____ _ _ _ _

_______And that’s how they found themselves, venturing away from their home. Their home. It was his home after all, it had been where he’d lived these past 20 years. It had been where he met Éponine and Jehan and Joly and Chetta and Bossuet. But now that he thought of it, the physical location hadn’t ever been what made him feel at home. It was the people he spent it with. He could have been as much at home in his large bedroom as he could have been in this carriage._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“Grantaire? Are you-?” Éponine whispered in his direction before she placed a hand on his cheek, wiping away the wetness he now felt._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“Oh, just thinking. It’s nothing.” He smiled, not really knowing why he would be tearing up. He didn’t necessarily feel sad. Merely…almost, a nostalgia of some kind._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“You know there’s no way in the hells we’re actually marrying them.” Éponine laughed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We have two months before the marriages will actually occur. Don’t worry, I’ll get us out of this if it’s the last thing I do.” She added sternly, holding his gaze. He never noticed before, but Éponine was very frightening when she became protective._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Maybe, he realized, she had nothing to really fight for before._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“I am excited to meet them though.” Joly added, nervously shooting a small smile at Grantaire as Éponine removed her hand and slumped against the side of the carriage. Most likely she was plotting._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“I wonder what kind of well-attuned people they have in Eteladia!” Exclaimed Jehan, excitedly._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“Oh, J…I think we might be the only kingdom in the whole world with someone like you.” Laughed Éponine, grinning towards Grantaire. He nodded, that was very likely. How many Jehan’s did you come across in your life?_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______*_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______They sat in silence, well, almost silence. Jehan was singing a soft tune, in another language, that is. Bossuet had once asked what language it was, but Jehan had merely shook their head and sighed. No one asked about it after, no one dared…_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Joly was still nervously peering out the window, looking if Bossuet had fallen off his horse yet. No one worried about Chetta, even with the metal hand, she was the most brilliant rider any of them had ever seen. And Éponine was still slumped against the side of the carriage with her hair covering her eyes, her breathing was heavier, so she had most likely fallen asleep._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Grantaire was sketching. He’d always had a talent for art, and that being one of his only foreseeable talents, decided to continue down that path. Currently, he was making rough outlines of the mountains of Lendaveth. They’d been his and Éponine’s favorite part of the kingdom, so regal, and so different from the horrid life court offered. Deep in thought while he drew, it dawned on him that, if they couldn’t find a way to stop these marriages, that could have been Éponine’s last time seeing those mountains._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“Hey dolls! We’re stopping here for lunch today. Next time we stop will be in a village where we’ll spend the night, so get out and stretch.” Chetta yelled through the open window, dismounting from her horse to help Bossuet._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Grantaire gently nudged Éponine until he saw her eyes blink open and felt her shift. Jehan had already exited the carriage with Joly following close behind._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“Thank the Gods, I need lunch.” Muttered Éponine, as she clambered over Grantaire._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“Hey Ep, we’ll…I mean, we’re not going to-.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “We’re not going to marry anyone we don’t want to, right?” She had paused, in the middle of the carriage doorway, staring at him._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“Exactly.” She said shortly, before offering a half-hearted smile. “No one’s going to be forced into anything.” With that she jumped, forgoing the step and one of the carriage attendants hands, and fell to the ground. The attendant looked bewildered, not knowing what to do. Éponine just chuckled and bounced up to her feet, favorably hitting the sputtering attendant on the back._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______That wasn’t very encouraging, he thought. But it was as good as he was going to get. No one’s going to be forced into anything, he repeated over and over again…until he started to believe it._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______*_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Stopping for lunch seemed to improve the overall morale of the group by quite a bit._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Chetta explained she had rode ahead slightly to see what the conditions were of the town they would be staying in for the night. She rented two rooms for the party, plus an extra one for the three attendants escorting them to Eteladia. The Lendaveth attendees would be returning to their home kingdom with the carriage after the royals arrival at Eteladia._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Lucky bastards, Grantaire had thought, with no heat behind the words._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Supposably the town they were rooming in was of a quaint, private sort, that was unaware of the royal visitors. Chetta had made sure that the inn had a private stable so they could conceal the carriage to the best of their ability._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“When it comes to transporting royals,” Chetta had once announced, after quite a few mugs of ale (courtesy of Grantaire), “the trick is to not let anyone know you’re transporting royals! You could be traveling with a couple bags of beans for all they know!” Roars of drunken laughter had followed that statement. But some truth did lie in there._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Grantaire had been very happy when he was told that the ride to Eteladia would only take two days. It wasn’t like the Lendaveth royals were hated by everyone in the country, but there was always the threat of some opportunist who thought it would be a good idea to kidnap some heirs in hopes of money._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Grantaire would rather not be kidnapped in hopes of money, as there was a high probability he meant less to the king and queen than a single gold coin._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______Jehan’s giggling interrupted his thoughts. The eagle that had been following the carriage came to land on their shoulder, before a loud whoosh occurred and the eagle was suddenly back to being a little toad._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“Jehan…” Bossuet said slowly. “You know that’s quite impressive, right?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“Is it?” They asked with a smile, skipping away from the picnic the attendants had set up in a small field. “I’m off to find Lithe Weed, I heard it’s very common around these parts!” They called back, before disappearing into the woods surrounding the field._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“Be careful!” Chetta called as she handed a wrapped sandwich to Grantaire._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“Did we bring any wine? I’m sure a nice red would really compliment this sandwich quite well…” He grinned up at Éponine, standing close to him, who shook her head with an affectionate smile._ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______“Do you really think any of us said yes to a two day trip with you _without _bringing some form of alcohol?”___ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________She handed him a glass of something one of the attendants had poured, before reclining against his back with a small sign. Chetta and Bossuet had their arms protectively wrapped around Joly, who had begun lecturing them on riding safety. Of course, Chetta and Bossuet knew more about horse riding than Joly could even imagine, but they listened and nodded along nonetheless._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________What some people do for love, Grantaire thought wistfully._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________He had never understood the full extent of the affection of what two, or three, people could feel for one another. In his mind, love wasn’t for royals. Love was for those that had a choice. Love wasn’t for him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________And it never would be._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_________Perhaps he should clarify: he loved Éponine, and Jehan and Chetta, Bossuet, and Joly; but none of that was romantic love. _Romantic love _was something for those that had a choice. _Romantic love _wasn’t for him._____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________“Good Gods R, I can hear you thinking. Shut up.” Éponine muttered under her breath. He said nothing back. She was right, he needed to stop thinking so hard._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________Just then, Jehan came bursting out of the woods, giggling as they went. The small toad was resting on their shoulder, looking oddly protective (for a toad), and an armful of, what Grantaire guessed, was Lithe Weed accompanied them._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________They handed the stack of plants to one of the attendants, who wrapped it up with particular care and tucked it with the luggage._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________“I’ve been meaning to ask Jehan,” Bossuet asked loudly, cutting off Joly’s tangent on the importance of using a mounting block. “What are you going to use Lithe Weed for?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________“It’s for the seasonal altar!” They shouted back, petting the small toad with affection.  
“The…what?” Bossuet asked, eyebrows raised, clearly trying to figure out what they would be referring to. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________“The seasonal altar, Bossuet.” Chetta answered matter-of-factly with a mouthful of sandwich. He heard Joly lightly scold Chetta for talking with food in her mouth, before she gave him a sloppy kiss on his cheek as an apology._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________“You know what that is?” Bossuet asked incredulously, whipping his head towards Chetta, who nodded while picking something out of Joly’s hair._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________“You don’t?” Piped up Joly, looking unsurprisingly unsurprised. Bossuet sputtered for a second before directing his gaze to Grantaire and Éponine. They nodded at the same time, both smirking._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_____________“I’ll show you when we get to Eteladia!” Jehan exclaimed with a bright smile, contrasting the defeated look Bossuet was wearing. “I’m not sure how you didn’t see it before…it _is rather large.”__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________“Oh Boss, you adorable idiot.” Chetta leaned over and smacked him lightly on the knee. “Alright group, we’re leaving.” Chetta directed. She always had the voice of a commander, that’s what Grantaire had always thought. It spurred the attendants into action, as they hastily packed up the rest of the picnic that was left. “Joly, I swear to the Gods if you say a word more about a mounting block. Go get in the carriage, love.” She added, softer, pushing Joly by the shoulders._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Regardless of her threat, he still muttered something about the death statistics without a mounting block under his breath. He then turned towards Bossuet and pushed a finger in his face. “ _You be careful on that horse.” Bossuet, looking smug, took Joly’s finger in his mouth, seductively, which solicited an indignant gasp from his partner. Joly stormed into the carriage, away from his two laughing companions, who high fived each other, after mounting their horses (without a mounting block, of course.).__ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“No. One. Scream. This. Time.” Jehan said, in the most Jehan way they could, before they again threw the little toad into the field._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“Gods, Jehan. I will never get used to that.” Éponine gasped, lifting herself away from Grantaire’s side, as the eagle soared above. “Let’s go R.” It took him a second before he realized she was reaching a hand towards him. He took it, and let her heave him up to a standing position._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________Bossuet and Chetta were already galloping ahead of the waiting carriage, with Joly peeking his head out the window to watch them go._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________Jehan was skipping towards the carriage door, their head turned towards the sky to watch their toad/eagle friend. (He had to find a new name for that thing, he thought.)_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________And Éponine was staring at him, holding his hand. Her eyes filled with something he couldn’t read, before she broke his gaze and whispered, “Let’s get drunk and flirt with some guys in the town. How does that sound?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“Chetta will kill us.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“Well…then we don’t have to marry any prissy blondes?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________“Good point.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_______________She knew him too well._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update (hopefully) coming by next Friday. Keep an eye out!!
> 
> Also, needless to say, I don't know much about Wiccan culture. However, I'm trying! Jehan is my little Wiccan bean. If I'm getting things completely wrong, and you want to correct me, please be my guest!! I'm always looking to learn new things:D


	7. Lavender Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princes and Princesses see each other for the first time. 
> 
> In other news, Grantaire might start believing in fairytales for once in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really have no excuse for why this chapter took so long for me to finish, but I offer this longer (and my favorite so far!) chapter as conciliation. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“What goes better with the shield, gold or white?” 

“Gold.” 

“Are you sure Enj? I think white might look better with the decorations.”

“Then wear the white.” 

“But the gold does bring out my eyes--”

“ Love, Enjolras doesn’t want to answer your questions right now.” 

“Ferre, this is important. This is day one of meeting them! I have to be charming.”

“Gods…” Combeferre whispered, turning away from Courfeyrac. 

Enjolras hadn’t been able to sleep last night. Or the last couple of nights. They’d all blended together recently. 

His two best friends knew he wouldn’t and had thus come to his room and set up camp for the past week. It had been lovely, it really had. It helped that it had calmed his nerves too, that is, only for approximately 3 hours before they were up and kicking again. 

You see, today was the day. The day he’d been dreading (and eagerly awaiting, for some odd reason?), for weeks. Today was the day the heirs from Lendaveth arrived. 

“You look really lovely Enj, I hope you know.” Combeferre’s soft voice tuned him back into whatever conversation he had been ignoring. 

“No, I-” 

“Oh don’t pretend you don’t know you look dashing!” Courf barked, from his place on the bed, as he heaved on his royal guarding garments. The golden chainmail top coupled with a white breastplate swamped Courf’s smaller frame, but that didn’t mean he looked any less daring. There was a certain something about Fey, maybe it was the way he carried himself, Enjolras didn’t know, but it made him seem larger than life. 

“You, shush.” Directed Ferre in his lover’s direction. 

Combeferre, his second-in-command, his co-captain, the one he turned to…Gods, was he getting nostalgic or what? He also looked brilliant. He was dressed in a gold tunic and white pants, and his gold rimmed glasses for the occasion. 

“Even if I thought I did, who am I trying to impress? My future wife who doesn’t know I’m gay? Her brother, who my sister is being forced to marry.” 

“Enj, I understand what you’re feeling. But remember, they’re probably just as nervous as you and Cosette,” In reality, Ferre was probably right, when wasn’t he right?. “Just…be welcoming.” He finished, his tone turning soft again. 

“Be welcoming…” He scoffed to himself, quietly enough that Ferre couldn’t hear. He couldn’t handle a disappointed glare at this moment. 

He busied himself with getting on the thousands of pounds of “princely” clothes he was required to wear, not by his own desire, of course. First went on the silk undergarments, closely followed by his white undershirt. Then he donned some tight fitting white pants which were tucked into a slim, golden boot. The jacket was next; it was a delicate, gold-trimmed article that, he would admit, fit in in all the right places. The final inclusion to the entire outfit was one of his own addition. A small, red poppy brooch, one that his mother had given him, was what he pinned to his breast. For every royal occasion he wore it, just to remind him of her. It helped that red was his color. 

“Ready?” Either Courf or Ferre asked. He couldn’t tell. He was miles away. 

“No,” The familiar sense of dread was settling itself in the pit of his stomach. “But I suppose I have to be.” 

*

The day had not been great so far. 

“These pants are not the enemy, these pants are not the enemy, good Gods…shi--” He landed with a thud. “Jehan!” 

He had, with no grace, fallen out of the carriage trying to get on the tightest pants in the world. Jehan (and his frog) had rushed to his aid, Éponine and Chetta burst into laughter, Bossuet had covered Joly’s eyes, and the attendants merely blushed. 

So yeah, not a great way to start the day. But… 

“Welcome to the Kingdom of Eteladia, I guess.” Joly whispered in their direction as their carriage entered a bustling city filled with decorations and ringing bells. 

He would take the no pants fall over The Kingdom of Eteladia any day. 

“R, we won’t…we aren’t…” 

“I know Ep,” Tearing his eyes away from the cheering people swarming the sides of their carriages, he squeezed her hand. “I know.” 

He absolutely did not know.

*

“Hello, darling.” 

Cosette. That was Cosette’s voice. 

“Cozy…are you-is it just me? Are you nervo-nervous?” 

“Yes, I’m extremely nervous. But, clearly, I’m not showing it as much as you. Did you drink water today? You looked flushed. Ferre, did he drink water today?” She yelled in Combeferre’s direction, who was currently standing across the main floor. “Oh Gods, he can’t hear me. Enjolras, you stand here. Take deep breaths, you’re as red as those poppies you love.” She was talking a mile a minute, never focusing her stare on Enjolras himself for longer than a couple seconds. At this moment, she found herself fiddling with the edge of her sleeve rather intently. 

He took some deep breaths. It seemed silly, really. They were just people, yes…a prince and princess, but still just people. Probably feeling just as nervous. 

But, then again…what if they weren’t? What if they were calm, cool and collected. What if he made a fool out of himself? 

No, that wouldn’t happen. 

He just had to focus on breathing. 

In, out, in, out… 

*

“Breathe in, out, in…damnit R, are you breathing at all?!” 

“Well it doesn’t help that you’re screeching at me! Speak in a higher tone Éponine, I dare you!” 

“Good Gods, I am just as nervous as you but at least I’m not being a,-a…Gods, I can’t even think! This corset is…” 

“Everyone, just callllm down.” 

“I swear to the Seven Hells Jehan, if you say ‘calm’ like that again, I will personally escort you down there.” He didn’t doubt his sister really would, in this moment, at least. 

“Pardon me your highnesses--”

“What?!” He and Éponine screamed together, turning the full force of their anger on a small Lendaveth attendant. 

“I was ju-just informed tha-that it’s time we go in.” He sputtered, looking as if tears were threatening to fall. 

Gods, he needed to get a grip on himself. Chetta had restricted alcohol intake for the day, so he wasn’t completely drunk when he made his first impression. When she said it, it made sense. 

Now, he wasn’t too sure. 

“I’m sorry we yelled, we’re just,” Éponine beat him to apologizing to the attendant, who was wringing his hands nervously. “Stressed.” 

“Of course your highnesses, I understand.” He most certainly didn’t understand. 

“Ep,” He finally got his voice working. “I’m sorry. We can, we can do this. I’m fine now.”  
“Yeah, I’m sorry too. And Jehan--oh Jehan don’t wear the frog like a hat, put him in your pocket, yes, that’s better--I’m sorry I yelled.” 

“I didn’t even notice!” They grinned, simultaneously making Grantaire feel better emotionally, and better about what he was wearing. 

Jehan had a, quirky, sense of style to say the least. As of now, they were wearing long purple lace robes over a bright yellow dress, with their hair done in intricate braids. They were still beautiful, they always had been. But it was enough of an outfit to make one look twice. 

Grantaire loved them for that. 

He, on the other hand, was wearing rather glamorous princely attire. Lendaveth favored dark blues for their ceremonial outfits, like his was now. A dark blue jacket with silver threading tightly enveloped his muscular frame. 

Sure, he’d never been proud of his face. He had a splattering of light scars along his cheeks with, seemingly, permanent dark circles under his eyes. His dark curls were unruly and wild, much like his personality, and a small mole (a birthmark) rested over his right upper lip. But, he was certainly proud of his arms. Boxing, and the occasional fight (r.e. the cuts on his face), with local bar-hoppers helped him in that area. 

What was he kidding himself? He couldn’t be a husband. He was loud, cynical, and depressed. Not entirely the makings for a life-partner. 

“You look very handsome R, I can see you thinking. Stop picking at that mole.” 

“She’s going to be so disappointed, Ep. She really is. I’m good for a solid fuck, and that’s about it.” 

Éponine was quiet for a second before inhaling. “R, Grantaire, you look at me.” He did. “If you do get married, no…listen, if you do get married, she will be the luckiest woman in the world. I know you don’t see yourself as attractive, unlike the rest of us, but regardless, you are the kindest, loyalist, most amazing brother. Please, you--you have to trust me, R.” 

“Ep, R? We really do have to be going in now.” That was Chetta, she spoke softly, which he silently thanked her for. She looked like a God in her full armor, her black hair fluttering around her shoulders. 

Éponine nodded, lifting her head and breathing deeply before moving to position. 

He took a final look at the carriage, as it was already being moved towards the stables. His last look of home.  


They were positioned in the ceremonial order: Chetta led, followed by Grantaire and Éponine, then two attendants who carried the train of Éponine’s dress, Jehan, and finished by Joly and Bossuet. 

The doors to the castle opened torturously slow, creaking with their heavy weight. Once fully opened, he was met with the sight of a crowded main hall, everyone in their finest attire. It was a long walk, so he couldn’t make out the royals standing on the platform at the front of the hall, but he was certain they were there. 

Chetta began the walk, striding with the most courage he’d seen anyone ever contain. The sword she held the hilt of swung lazily at her hip, accompanied by a shield in her metal hand. 

He heard excited whispers as him and Éponine came into view. Of course, he was certain they were only discussing the beauty of his sister. And she did look beautiful, in a deep, seductive way. The full, blue dress fit her frame perfectly, and her long black hair fell loosely down her back. No, there was not a chance they were discussing him, and if they were, it was only to offer condolences towards the princess being forced to marry him. 

He heard Jehan's wooden staff clink ever so slightly from behind him, bringing him back to the present. It offered an odd comfort, as Jehan often did, that they were not here alone.

“Introducing to His Majesty the King, King Valjean of Eteladia; His Royal Highness, Prince Grantaire of Lendaveth and Her Royal Highness, Princess Éponine of Lendaveth.” An Eteladian announcer called throughout the great hall. 

Grantaire gave a low bow, now unable to see either the prince or princess, obstructed by two Lendaveth attendents on either side of Chetta. Aside him, Éponine curtseyed, eyeing him slyly, making a point of also not craning to see the Eteladian royals. 

“Escorting them, Dame Commander Muschietta.” The voice boomed again, this time prompting Chetta to kneel, head bowed, with her sword situated as a vice. “With the party, the Seer Jehan, Master Joly, and Master Bossuet.” Of course, at the mention of “Seer Jehan”, the crowd burst into interested whispers, as Jehan’s presence often prompted. It wasn’t until the King spoke that the room quieted. 

“We welcome you, our visitors from Lendaveth, to the Kingdom of Eteladia. The pleasure of your visit has awakened our city. We will show you every kindness and comfort while you are here. Now may I present, Her Royal Highness, Princess Cosette,” A woman, a beautiful woman, stepped in view. Her hair was as delicate as spun gold, with a flowing white and gold gown to accompany it. She wore a smile, one that Grantaire was sure could cure any illness, that framed her sparkling teeth. She was Freyja; Goddess of beauty and gold. Surely this was the most beautiful person he had ever seen…

“And His Royal Highness, Prince Enjolras.” 

He was wrong. 

*

“And His Royal Highness, Prince Enjolras.” 

Enjolras stepped into view. 

He had gotten a good look at Dame Commander Muschietta during their walk down. There was no doubt about it, she was a warrior. Her soft black hair, interspersed with small beaded braids, countered the stony expression she wore. Her black eyes darted quickly around the hall, looking for any sign of danger. It had seemed when her eyes came to rest on the King that she was satisfied with the level of security, regardless; her hand still waited on the hilt of her sword. 

“The Seer Jehan”, Master Joly, and Master Bossuet, as they had been referred to, all fanned out evenly so they were able to be seen by the royals on the platform at the front. 

Very good, he thought. That certainly showed a level of sophistication. 

They all looked kind, Jehan especially. 

The heirs of Lendaveth had been hidden by two attendants for the entirety of their walk. And to keep his princely appearance, he was not about to crane his neck to see them. No matter how much he wanted to. 

But now he saw them. 

Princess Éponine was shockingly gorgeous. She looked alluring, red lipstick and eyes ablaze, clearly welcoming any stare she received. She was so different from Cosette, who he had imagined her to resemble. Where Cosette was light and open, Éponine was dark and mysterious. Where Cosette met people with soft looks, Éponine glanced around with commanding stares. 

He’d realize his gaze had lingered much too long on the princess, as he shifted to look at this brother of hers. The man Cosette would be forced to marry. The man he had imagined to be at least 40, balding, and bland looking with ugly teeth and dull eyes and--

No. 

No. No, this wasn’t right. 

He was…attractive? 

No.

He was downright handsome. 

He was fair and, oh Gods, beautiful?

He was young, definitely not old, with black curls falling in all directions on his head, also definitely not balding. His face was tan and his eyes were bright, not dull. Perhaps they were the brightest eyes Enjolras had ever seen, he couldn’t think straight. Because when Grantaire, Grantaire was his name, flashed him a smile with straight and shiny teeth, all thoughts seemed to vanish from his head. 

He was certainly beautiful. 

This was bad, quite possibly the worst, and Enjolras was a goner. 

*

He was being ushered into another section of castle, away from the great hall, and away from his angel. 

Chetta was still in front, leading them. He couldn’t remember what had happened. The last thing he saw was golden curls, marble skin, blue eyes, and light. Pure light eminated from the being. He stepped out, and suddenly Grantaire found the wind knocked out of him. Like an invisible little man had playfully hit his stomach. 

He’d been lost in those eyes, those blue, sparkling eyes. They were the sea and his ship was sinking. 

Apparently, while he’d been drowning, introductions had ended and King Valjean had announced for the party to begin in three hours. That allowed Éponine and himself time to freshen up and prepare for the onslaught of questions and meetings. 

So now he found himself recovering from the sight of a man. The sight of a man his sister was engaged to marry, one couldn’t forget that. 

Oh, how he always made life difficult for himself. 

A long walk later, Chetta hurried him and Éponine into a large room. 

“Grantaire, this is where you’ll be sleeping. Éponine, you’re in the room adjoining this one,” Chetta sounded exhausted, or stressed, or both. “Joly, Boss, and I are two doors down. But I’ll be on duty outside your rooms every night.” 

“Chetta, I’m sure they’re perfectly safe. There’s no reason to--” 

“There’s every reason, ” She hissed, silencing Bossuet. “I have every reason.” 

“Yes, I suppose you do.” Bossuet said shortly, looking uneasily at Joly. 

“Of course you do, and you should. I don’t entirely trust this place either. But you have no reason now. We have to get Boss set up in the kitchen for Éponine’s food tonight, and I must make myself acquainted with the apothecary. I would feel much safer to have you with us.” Joly stared at Chetta, effectively unruffling her feathers and calming the situation down. 

“Will you two be alright if I help figure out this situation? I’ll be back up before we have to go down. Right now, try to relax.” Chetta was now staring at him, addressing Éponine too, but staring at him. He must have seemed off, as he’d been silent since their walk into the hall. 

“Of course Chetta, please do what you have to.” Éponine said, and he nodded, shooting a smile at the three by the door. With a final look in Grantaire’s direction, Chetta grabbed the hands of Joly and Bossuet as she marched them out the door. 

With the uneasiness out of their room, Éponine began settling herself in a large chair, eyes closed, as Jehan stroked her hair. And suddenly, utter peace fell over him.

He allowed himself to glance around his new bedroom. Pictures, of all types of scenes, adorned the walls. There were portraits, landscapes, still life, anything you could imagine, he had a painting of it on these walls. And something else caught his eye. 

All around, on almost every surface, was a vase full of flowers. Lavender roses, to be more specific. 

He walked towards a particularly full glass vase to pluck one out of its arrangement as he heard Jehan whisper something. 

“You know what they mean, right?” 

“What?” Grantaire asked, confused as to what Jehan was referring to. Éponine was sleeping lightly, still curled in the armchair she’d settled into. He, on the other hand, held a light purple rose in his hand, feeling quite strange about these flowers, as if they meant something to him. 

“The flowers. Each type of flower has meaning, R. You know what these mean, right?” 

“No, Jehan. I don’t.” Of course Jehan knew what flowers ‘meant’. As if flowers could mean something at all, it was laughable, but he couldn’t bring himself to laugh. 

“Love at first sight.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Love at first sight, that’s what the flowers mean.” Jehan responded lightly. Paying no attention to the way Grantaire’s shoulders stiffened or the way he held the rose tighter.

Well, it was only something Jehan said. It was a fairytale. Something untrue. 

But as his mind drifted back to blue eyes and golden curls and pure light, he wondered if maybe, just maybe…

It was not so untrue afterall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, sorry this took so long. My life was a little crazy for a bit, but I'm back and writing like a fiend again! Expect the next chapter (CERTAINLY) sooner than this one appeared. 
> 
> Maybe even tomorrow? I am very happy to write party scenes, and we get some actual interaction between the royals so yay for that!!


	8. A Daisy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chetta doesn't trust this kingdom.
> 
> In other news, Joly's having the time of his life. 
> 
> In other, other news, Grantaire and Enjolras...meet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so I started to write the party chapter, and just felt I needed something in the middle. 
> 
> Welcome to Chetta's innermost thoughts!! Needless to say, Joly is my angel baby, Chetta is my badass bitch, and Bossuet loves both of them. More B/J/M fluff than I expected, but what the hell...why not!
> 
> See I told you it would take me less time to update!! :D

“I should go back to check on him. Joly, we should go back to check on him--”

“No, what we should actually do is continue helping me find the castle apothecary. Do we take a left here?”

“He could cut himself.”

“Or, wait, do we take a right?” 

“Or burn himself.”

“Oh Gods, or was it straight?”

“What if he burns himself and can’t find help? Joly, what if he can’t find anyone to help him--”

“Chetta! Please love, calm down. He’ll be fine. Boss has been cooking his entire life. Now for the love of everything good, please tell me what direction we go here.” 

“If you’re looking for the apothecary, which I believe you are, it’s a left.” 

Chetta whirled around, pushing Joly behind her and brandishing a small dagger she had been storing in her waistband. The Eteladian attendants had taken her sword to be polished, which she’d reluctantly agreed to, only after lots of begging from everyone involved. 

“Stand back.” Her tone was low and dangerous as she eyed the stranger. One arm was protectively holding Joly behind her, but she calculated that if this newcomer ran at her, she would have a few seconds to push J into the alcove to her left and still have time to grab the other dagger she was keeping in her boot. 

The stranger, rather than begin his assault, merely raised his eyebrows and held his hands up in a gesture of peace. 

He didn’t look dangerous; the round glasses perched on the edge of his nose gave him a gentle exterior. And he was a very classic sort of handsome, she supposed. Of course, no one compared to the two perfect boys she herself had procured, but still. 

However, no matter how surprised and kind he looked, she couldn’t let her guard down. She had too much to lose. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Allow me to introduce myself, I’m Combeferre; head of castle medicine and medical library of Eteladia. And now, I suppose, your guide to the apothecary.” 

She felt Joly put a calming hand on the arm she had been shielding him with. 

“Of course. Hello, I’m Joly; head of castle medicine and medical library of Lendaveth. I’ve heard so much about you from our advisors!” He paused, most likely waiting for her to lower her dagger, but she wasn’t satisfied just yet with this, well, Combeferre. “Chetta, my love, please. He’s practically a brother of the prince, Javert said.” 

Combeferre lightly laughed. “I myself would consider Enjolras my best friend, rather than a brother. I’ve always found that siblings bicker too much.” 

“Please.” Joly whispered in her ear, after smiling apologetically to Combeferre, both his arms raising to rest on her outstretched one. 

She didn’t trust this kingdom, or its inhabitants, but she’d be damned before she denied something to Joly or Bossuet. 

“Becoming head of castle medicine is a herculean task, I’ve seen the journey, I respect you for that.” She said, lowering the dagger and tucking it back into her waistband holster. 

Combeferre let out a breath, one he probably didn’t realize he was holding, and Joly gave a relieved sigh. 

“That it is, as is becoming a Dame Commander. You’ve gained my utmost awe for that. Well, Master Joly, I bet you want to see where you’ll be setting up shop for the next couple of months.”

Chetta glanced at her lover, still standing next to her, and he nodded. She let Joly out from behind her, but not out of her reachable vicinity, not just yet. 

“Just Joly is fine. And yes please, I would like that very much!” 

Combeferre gave an amiable smile. “Follow me.” His eyes darted to hers, as Joly squeezed her non-metal hand. And with a final look around at their surroundings, she gave Combeferre the signal to continue.

*

It was harder to leave Joly with strangers in a strange kingdom than it was to leave Bossuet. 

And, yes, Boss would entirely agree with her on that one and take no offense. 

Joly was slender and short, overall a small person. His black hair was always neat, his skin was very light (save the dusting of freckles over his button nose), and his cheeks were always rosy; as if he’d been standing in the cold for some hours. 

He was entirely trusting of people, but wary of situations. Which was an odd trait to have, Chetta had always thought. 

And he was fragile, delicate and lovely. Like a daisy. 

If a daisy could kill you when you didn’t wear a helmet while jousting. 

She’d made that mistake once and swore to never set him off like that again. It had taken a full week for him to forgive her and be in the middle of their sleeping arrangement. But when he had, she’d wrapped him in her arms with his head buried in the crook of her neck. 

She’d forgotten just how much she’d missed him doing that. 

Bossuet was different. She loved them both equally, but differently. Boss was taller than her, definitely taller than Joly. And where J had skinny limbs, B had taut muscles. He was her training partner, and riding partner, and her original lover. 

They’d been together about a year and a half before the entrance of a small, black haired boy that wouldn’t kiss you without a quick rinse of mint (but at the time they didn’t know about his little quirks). 

After Joly and Bossuet became fast, and best described as inseparable friends, their relationship became strained. B wasn’t sure how to feel about his attraction and she wasn’t sure how to express her absolute “okay-ness” with it. 

He felt like he was betraying her, she’d found out later, never realizing the same thoughts were echoing around her mind as well. 

It was after a fight that left them both crying that they realized they needed to face this thing head on. Step one was to figure out if Joly even wanted a relationship, specifically one with the both of them, which proved to be more arduous than she’d like to admit. 

That’s a story for another time. 

With help from R, Ep, Jehan and a duck; they were finally a couple. A couple with three people. A partnership.

Her two boys became her everything. Her moon and stars. Joly crying (happy tears) after they all made love and the way Bossuet would cook for them every morning became her world. 

Grantaire was her brother. Éponine was her sister. Jehan was, basically, her child. And her boys completed her family. A family she’d made. 

Fuck her biological family that didn’t want her, she had a better one. 

But then Joly had gotten sick, very sick. Their daisy was wilting. So sick that an undertaker had come to speak with her and Bossuet about arrangements. It was that moment that became the closest she had ever come to killing an innocent person. He was doing his job, at least that’s what Bossuet had screamed at her when she held a sword to the man's throat. She didn’t kill the undertaker that day. But that night she’d gone out and gotten blackout drunk with R. 

Her behavior was unhealthy, she knew that. But when one of the pieces she revolved her whole world around was lying in a bed, coughing up blood, shaking so violently that he threw up, what could you expect her to do? 

The infection started in his left leg, apparently, she didn’t understand the medical jargon. Bossuet nodded along with whatever the apothecary said, eyes wide and pleading. So when Joly's body began recovering, she thought it was over. 

It was three months before he could leave his bed, and when that day came, they’d thrown a party. R and Ep had sung songs while Jehan played the lute. It was 48 minutes of pure happiness.

It was one minute later they found out Joly couldn’t walk. At all. His left leg wouldn’t move, it was dead weight. 

He’d begun to sob, reaching for anyone that was near him. Which happened to not be Chetta, it happened to be Bossuet and Grantaire. And this gave her the opportunity to exit his room and repeatedly punch the wall while the knuckles on her flesh hand bled, until Éponine wrapped her arms around her. 

It took a year before Joly felt anything, a slight tingle in his toes, and another month before he told them about it. It took him another month after that, that he’d finally told his partners about Jehan’s role in it. 

Thank the Gods for Jehan, but that’s also a story for another time. 

All she cared about now was that her Joly could walk, with a limp, but he could walk. And he was living, and laughing, and making love. And it was perfect. Her and Boss and Joly fit perfectly together. 

And here she was, years later, leaving Joly with a stranger. He’d been so excited when they entered the apothecary that he’d let go of her hand to begin exploring. J was talking a mile a minute about things that she couldn’t begin to understand, but Combeferre nodded along, and even got a few words in here and there. 

“You can go Chetta, I’ll be here for awhile!” He had said brightly, not looking up from a glass of nettle leaves he was inspecting. 

“I don’t know about that.” She’d said, folding her arms across her chest, giving a look towards Combeferre. 

“He’ll be very safe. My partner, Sir Courfeyrac, is patrolling these hallways now.” Combeferre gave her a knowing smile, she guessed he understood her issue with leaving Joly alone in a new kingdom, but he didn’t know the extent of it. 

“Oh Chetta, go check to make sure R hasn’t gotten completely drunk yet--, oh well, sorry I shouldn’t have said that. I was kidding, Prince Grantaire is a great person, an amazing person. I--” His smile faded as he gave an uneasy look towards Combeferre. But the other man merely laughed. 

“Ah, I understand. After you’re done here, I’m going to make sure Prince Enjolras isn’t actively staging his own kidnapping.” Combeferre said lightly. 

“Regardless Chetta, my love, I’m fine. Please, just looking at me looking at things would be boring for you.” 

Looking at you doing anything while you’re alive and well could never be boring for me, she wanted to say. But she held her tongue, Joly would be fine, and she really did need to make sure R and Éponine were dressed in their second ceremonial outfits. 

“Alright, don’t leave this room, I mean it. I’ll be back when we need to get changed for the party.” She kissed the top of his head, before he was back to studying herbs of all sorts. 

She chanced a final look at Combeferre, who gave her a nod, as he moved to examine lavender buds with Joly. 

*

“Oh Gods, oh Gods, I’m not a very religious person, but oh Gods help me!” 

“You’re an Eteladian knight. Tell me your name,” No answer. “Tell me your name immediately,” Again, no answer. “Tell me it’s Sir Courfeyrac, and that Combeferre wasn’t lying to me.”

The man simultaneously perked up. “Oh, you know Ferre? That’s my partner! Yep, I’m Sir Courfeyrac, but you can call me Courf, or Fey, or Sir if that’s your thing, but I must say I’m in a happy relationship.” She could feel him wink as she rolled her eyes impossibly hard. 

“Grantaire’s going to adore you, I hope you know. So will Jehan.” 

“Oh my Gods, you’re Dame Commander Muschietta. Aren’t you? I can’t see you on account of the, you know…” 

Oh, right. 

She had him pinned on his front, with one of his arms wrapped around his back, and his face pushed sideways onto the ground. 

“Right, sorry about that. I left my Joly, uh I mean…I left one of my partners with Combeferre. I wanted to make sure he wasn’t lying to me.” She loosened her grip on the man’s body, stepping back and away from him. 

“No worries at all!” Courfeyrac, or Courf, or Fey, or whatever she was going to call him, popped off the ground, dusting his knees off as he went. He was in a surprisingly good mood for having just been forcibly pinned to the ground. It made her uneasy. “I’ve heard so much about you. You won your first jousting contest at 10? At 10! That’s incredible! That news spread like dragonfire, I heard about it just a couple weeks later. Enj, or Prince Enjolras, well I guess it doesn’t matter, he’ll be Enj to you soon anyway, he told me!” 

This ball of energy seemed to be ready to talk for hours. But she was going somewhere…where was that? Oh right, she needed to get to Grantaire and Éponine’s rooms. 

“If you want to keep talking, you’re going to have to walk with me.” She stated, before heading off at a brisk pace towards the sleeping chambers. She was decidedly not thinking about Bossuet probably adding another hand burn to his collection that Joly would decide to fuss about later. She was definitely not thinking about that. 

For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn’t follow her. Then, “Wow, you walk fast. How do you walk so fast in armor like that? I can’t walk that fast. I have so many questions! What’s Lendaveth like? Is it warm or cold? I’ve never been. Who are your partners? I think that’s so awesome that you’re in a partnership with two other people. Is Joly, one of your partners, with Combeferre? I bet they’ll be friends! Princess Éponine was so beautiful, but so different from Princess Cosette, are all ladies beautiful like that in Lendaveth? Prince Grantaire was really handsome too! His eyes were totally beautiful, I know Enj agrees with me--”

“What?” She stopped turning to look at him. This was going to cause issues. This blonde was going to be an issue. 

“I’ve been friends with Enjolras for a long time, I’m pretty sure I can tell when he sees someone attractive.” He giggled, a toothy grin appearing before her eyes. Gods damnit, of course this man would remind her of Joly…maybe she should go back and check on him…?

“Courf!” A high-pitched shriek met her ears. She began to reach for her blade, but her hand stopped on its way down. Prince Enjolras, the one she’d seen at the welcoming ceremony, was staring at her. He’d certainly been halfway through changing into his second ceremonial outfit, because he was only wearing a tight undershirt and leggings. 

Speaking of which, she needed to get to her royals rooms to make sure they were changed. Damn this kingdom and its ability to make her lose focus. 

“I can’t deal with this,” She gestured in the two Eteladian’s directions before beginning to walk again. “Right now.” She muttered the last bit to herself, silently cursing all these pretty, blonde royals that were bound to cause issues for her heirs down the road. 

And she’d be the one making sure no one got hurt, or broken-hearted, or killed, for that fact, which was just her luck. 

“Uh, wait! Wait! I wanted to introduce myself.” She heard Enjolras shout. 

Whirling around, telling herself this would be the last time she was stopping on this walk, she yelled back, “Do it while we’re walking, your highness! I need to get somewhere.” 

She waited until he and Courfeyrac caught up with her to continue onto the bedchambers. 

“I’m Prince Enjolras of Eteladia, heir to the kingdom and its surrounding lands, and it’s an honor to be harboring such a renowned Dame Commander. We’re very privileged you could come. I’d also like to extend my gratitude towards the heirs of Lendaveth for making the journey to see us.”

“Looks like you can thank them yourself.” She added shortly, not entirely paying attention to the praises he had spoken, before throwing open the door to Grantaire’s room. 

“--I’m just saying, if what I’m saying is true, and the Eteladian’s are going to sacrifice us so they can retain their angelic beauty, wouldn’t the feast tonight be a perfect time to do it?!” 

Grantaire was standing on a chair giving the tail end of his speech, Éponine was pacing around the room and Jehan was making butterflies appear out of the tip of their wooden staff.

And they were all, most certainly, not dressed. 

Enjolras had gone strangely quiet, seemingly transfixed on something, (or someone, her brain supplied), in the room. 

“Well I doubt that would make for a very fun party!” Courfeyrac, she had forgotten he was there, barked from his place beside the Eteladian prince. 

Grantaire let out a wild shriek, only now turning to see who was in the doorway. Éponine stopped dead in her tracks and Jehan jumped to their feet, grinning madly.

“Well that’s what I said!” The auburn haired person yelled, waving the butterflies out the open window. “I’m so glad I get to meet you! I’m Jehan!” 

Now Grantaire had seemed to go strangely quiet, his eyes comically wide and focused on Courfeyrac? No, just past him…great…Enjolras. 

“No, no…” Enjolras, still staring at…great, yep; Grantaire, said. “Introductions happen tonight in an hour, I’m not wearing clothes.”

“Pretty sure you’re still wearing something…” Éponine supplied, awkwardly grinning, and  
trying to break the eye contact between the two princes. 

“The right clothes,” Enjolras hissed, turning his attention away from Grantaire to look at the princess. “This is…no, not right, not proper. Courfeyrac, we’re leaving. I will see you all, uh, tonight for proper introductions. Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen.” He said curtly, throwing a final glance at R, who had gone slack-jawed in the meantime. 

With a toss of blonde hair, Enjolras walked, more like jogged, away from the room; leaving a blushing Courfeyrac to say an awkward goodbye before he too turned away. 

Jehan and Éponine burst out laughing once Chetta had shut the door, but R let out a whine like he’d been stabbed. 

“He's so gorgeous! Éponine, Jehan, Chetta, how’s he so gorgeous? Why does he cast my mortal soul into the depths of his beauty when there’s nothing to be done?” 

“R, you haven’t even talked to him. He could like cats over dogs for all you know.” Éponine stated, matter of factly. 

“Or sunderbeasts over cattlerats!” Jehan piped in.

Getting dressed. Getting dressed for the welcome party. That’s what they’re going to do. They don’t have time for this.

“Nope, no. No time for this conversation. We’re getting changed. Éponine come with me. Jehan, I’m putting you in charge of R and his outfit, it’s in the second trunk.” No one moved. She needed to get back to Joly and Bossuet. 

“Now!” She finally barked. 

*

Well that party had been…quite something.

Courfeyrac and Jehan had hit it off. So did a new guard they met, named Bahorel, and Grantaire. And, believe it or not, Éponine seemed to be enjoying the company of Cosette. 

Joly had stayed close to her, and Bossuet had gone to talk to Combeferre. 

There were lots of questions and introductions, and everything seemed to be going rather well. 

She knew these blondes would cause trouble. She knew THAT blonde would cause trouble. Enjolras.

And she also knew how R couldn’t resist trouble once he found it. 

But that wasn’t now. That was an issue for tomorrow. 

Now, she was focused on rubbing circles on Joly’s back while Bossuet combed through his hair on the other side. They’d been sleeping with Joly in the middle ever since he’d gotten sick. It had started because of his nightmares, and they didn’t want him rolling off the bed. 

Joly insisted he should sleep in his own room, so he wouldn’t accidentally hurt one of them, but that idea had been cast out as soon as they’d heard it. 

Then they’d stayed that way because they needed to feel they had some control over what happened to him. It was easy when he was sleeping, Bossuet could wrap his arms around his skinny shoulders, and she could hold his waist. They fit together like a puzzle piece.

When she looked down now, she realized Joly was sleeping. His quiet breaths were deeper now, and his eyes relaxed, so the crinkle they so often carried wasn’t visible. 

Bossuet grasped her hand and he kissed her knuckles, chuckling slightly as he did so. Their eyes met over Joly’s little frame, and they both had tears in them. Happy tears, overwhelmed tears, some sort of tears they both couldn’t place. 

But here they were. A little garden with three flowers. 

The daisy in the middle, as healthy as ever, and that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will fill in the gaps of the ceremony from one (or both!!) of our princes' views.
> 
> Hope you've enjoyed!! If you came for E/R, I hope you're staying for E/R + C/C + B/J/M + more ships to come ;)


	9. Chamomile and Vanilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Eteladian Welcoming Ceremony proves to be quite fun.
> 
> In other news, Grantaire and Enjolras become friends! :)
> 
> In other, other news, Grantaire and Enjolras also become enemies! >:(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long-ass chapter. Enjoy!!
> 
> Probably many typos and the continued misuse of the semicolon. Have fun!

“Chetta sure seemed stressed. Can you raise your arms? I wonder what’s going on…” 

“I look ridiculous. Do I always look this ridiculous?” 

“You ask me? R, I’m appalled, I’ve written poems about your beauty!” They cleared their throat. “His eyes, which shine like eternal moonbeams over the Dansayus Hills--”

“Yes, Jehan, yes…I remember.” The poem in question took a full hour to read. Of course, just his luck, Jehan also insisted they wanted to watch Grantaire’s “spiritual truth be released” during his reading of it. He, of course, had no idea what that meant; but with enough gasps and eyebrow raises, Jehan had seemed satisfied. 

They chuckled warmly, picking up the shirt they’d been instructed to help R into. “My love, you’re a gorgeous prince--no, R, listen to me--someday you will see that.” He sighed. Everyone kept telling him that…how laughable. “But, for now, let’s get you into this shirt!” 

“Yes, yes. Let’s complete this ensemble of monarchical tyranny! Tell me, Jehan, Seer of the Seven Isles, to what extent will I look like the protector of the peoples, fit for the beauty of our darling Princess Cosette, after you’re done with me?” 

They quirked an eyebrow, a wicked smile settling upon their delicate features, sensing a challenge. “Oh R, you have no idea.” 

*

“Have I ever told you what a great ass you have?”

Bossuet slapped his hands over Joly’s ears. Oh yeah, yeah…like R had never accidentally walked in on them. Three times, to be exact. He wasn’t counting, but he also wasn’t NOT counting either. You can’t entirely blame him…what kind of freaks do it in the castle greenhouses? Well, besides him and that garden apprentice once…ok, twice. 

“Given as you’re my sister, no, I can’t say you have.” 

“Well I’m saying it now. R, you look damn good.” Her bright red lips formed into a grin. “Your ass especially.” She added with a wink. 

Éponine’s ceremonial welcoming outfit was rather similar to the one she’d worn for their introduction. The black dress she was wearing now had less of a train, and it was tighter around the legs, but was no less frivolous. Chetta must have forced her into it upon fear of death, not that death would stop his sister, but still; Éponine hated frivolous dresses. 

His change of attire was also relatively similar. He was still wearing a tight silken undershirt, but instead of the customary thick blue jacket with silver threading, he had on a lighter, dark green tunic. It didn’t square his shoulders as much, which he was thankful for, and tapered around his middle. And thanks to Éponine’s remark, he conceded, the tighter pants Jehan had squeezed him into did show off the, rather full, extent of his ass. 

The dark green was of his own liking. For less formal ceremonies, royals were permitted to forgo their kingdom colors. Thus, he was wearing green and Éponine was wearing black. Quite fitting. 

He’d always loved the color green. It was symbolic of the natural world; a world un-plagued by social classes and tyranny. If it wasn’t for the fateful day that he’d been dropped on the castle steps, he would have been perfectly happy to live the remainder of his days in a little cottage in the woods; drawing all day and gazing at the stars all night. His dream come true. 

But, alas, he was dropped on those steps. So here he stood; behind a large oak door, waiting to shake the hands of countless people he could never remember the name of. Waiting to see Enjolras, beautiful Enjolras, with his wavy hair and blue eyes. Not to mention, waiting to see Cosette, the woman he was engaged to. 

Engaged to. 

Oh fuck. 

“Hey, they’re announcing us now. Everyone get ready to walk. Jehan, what are we doing with Heket?” 

“He’ll ride up here!” Jehan grinned, placing Heket (the newly named frog) on their bare shoulder. 

Jehan’s outfit consisted of a white, floor length smock held up with tiny straps made of little pink flowers. Tonight their hair was braided intricately down their back, housing fluttering butterflies nestled in the auburn locks, and the green tattoos could be seen on the showing bare skin of their upper body, everywhere besides their face.

Chetta had been placed in charge of Jehan for the evening, or rather, she had placed herself in charge of Jehan for the evening. People were always bound to be interested in their darling Seer, and Chetta was violently protective over every single one of her Lendaveth family. She wasn’t about to let Jehan be poked and prodded at by curious Eteladian’s, something she had made very clear on their way down to the ceremony. 

“Alright, Heket,” Chetta pointed a finger at the little frog. “You stay. Everyone ready? Yes? Bossuet, Éponine’s food is warming, correct? Good. Remember if anyone, and I mean anyone, feels uncomfortable, then you come find me. Understood? Good.” 

She gave three loud knocks, causing the doors to shutter a moment, before swinging open and revealing a huge, glittering ballroom. 

A long table was positioned near the back wall, adorned with large centerpieces, while the rest of the space was left open for dancing, R supposed. Golden chandeliers hung from the ceiling, filling the room with a soft light, and fireplaces roared on either end of the hall. 

The Eteladian guests, guards, and attendants were arranged in a semicircle, with the three royals stationed in the center. 

King Valjean was wearing an intricate white cape embellished with gold threading. Cosette, to his left, wore a full, glitzy, pink ball gown and a golden tiara. And Enjolras, to his right, was wearing a fiery red tunic, much like Grantaire’s own, with (Gods save him) tight black pants and red boots. 

“We welcome you, our Lendaveth guests, and thank you for your presence.” King Valjean announced while striding towards them. With his movement, Chetta, Joly, Bossuet, and Jehan moved aside, leaving only him and Éponine in his path. When he reached them, the king gave a low bow (and Grantaire could have sworn he saw him wink!) before rising and declaring the party officially started. 

Cosette and Enjolras were the first to walk in their direction, while everyone else in the room turned to each other and began conversing. He saw Sir Courfeyrac approach Jehan, with Chetta eyeing them carefully, until she herself was caught up in a conversation with a large Eteladian guard he’d never seen before. He snuck a glance to Éponine, who shot a pursed grin in his direction before turning her eyes back towards the oncoming royals. 

Enjolras arrived in front of him, a small smile revealing itself on his features. 

And really, it shouldn’t be allowed for someone to be so beautiful. 

Honestly, they must take part in some sort of human sacrifice because it should be against the laws of nature for someone to be this gorgeous. 

But as Grantaire looked at him more, even a human sacrifice seemed a small price to pay for the privilege of gazing at Enjolras. 

Wait, no. No. Human sacrifices are terrible. They’re terrible. They’re terrible, right?

Gods, he needed to get it together.

“I am Prince Enjolras of Eteladia, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Enjolras stuck out his hand, a hand with trimmed fingernails and bony joints, for Grantaire to take. And he did take it, gently, before Enjolras gave a hard shake and he gripped tighter. 

“I’m Prince Grantaire.” He managed to squeak out. And then, as soon as he had arrived, Enjolras moved to make his acquaintance with Éponine. Which could only mean…

“Prince Grantaire?” He turned around at the sound of the light voice. The Eteladian princess stood behind him, smiling brightly and holding her hands delicately at her sides. She looked to be a symbol of royal grace.

He should really make it a priority to never leave her alone in a room with Éponine… 

“Prince Grantaire, I am Princess Cosette, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“Lots of people seem to be saying that today,” He scoffed, before throwing a hand over his mouth and grimacing. “Oh no, I mean; I’m Prince Grantaire of Lendaveth and you look very lovely tonight princess.” Curse his mouth that speaks without the consent of his brain.

She threw her head back gracefully and laughed. “Well, lots of people seem to be saying that as well. One would almost dare to think, they say it so much, that it becomes more or less meaningless.” Grantaire couldn’t help but grin.

“I was thinking the same thing. How very astute!” 

“Prince Grantaire, I believe in time, you’ll find I’m full of astuteness,” She cast a wink in his direction before turning towards the other pair of royals. “Now, Princess Éponine, I would love to introduce you to the ladies of the court. Enjolras, would you mind looking after Prince Grantaire?”

Before waiting for an answer, she took Éponine by the elbow and walked her towards a gossiping group of ladies in large, feathery hats. 

He silently prayed that Éponine wouldn’t kill any of them, at least, not while everyone was watching. 

“Prince Grantaire?” He glanced at Enjolras. “I’d like to make you acquaintances with my two closest confidants; Sir Courfeyrac and Master Combeferre.” 

“Well I’ve already seen a bit of Courfeyrac, right?” He laughed, remembering back to the small, excited knight he’d seen standing with Enjolras when they’d interrupted his speech on human sacrifices. 

Enjolras grimaced. “I believe we are collectively forgetting that experience, are we not? Sir Courfeyrac is a very respectable knight, and Master Combeferre is in charge of our castle infirmary and library.”

“I’m also an avid researcher of Gynnidomorpha Alisman, but no one seems to add that to my introduction.” 

Grantaire had been so intent on studying at the side profile of Enjolras as they’d walked; the slight curve of his nose, his soft looking lips, and slight rosy blush, that’d he’d completely neglected the fact that they had stopped in front of two men. 

“Those are moths. The Gynnido-oh whatever he's talking about. They’re just moths, and I’d wish he’d just address them as such!” The smaller of the two men giggled, glancing at his taller companion. On closer inspection, once he finally tore his eyes away from Enjolras, he noticed it was Courfeyrac. 

The taller man, it must be Combeferre, had his arm wrapped around the waist of the knight.

Lucky bastards, being able to choose who they wanted to be with. 

“Regardless, may I introduce Prince Grantaire of--”

“I think they know where I’m from by now,” He cut in, smirking at the face Enjolras pulled. His nose scrunched up, adorably, he might add. “Hello, I’m Grantaire, but you can call me R if you’d like.” He stuck out his hand to Combeferre first, shaking it, and then followed with Courfeyrac. 

“I think we’ll stick with Prince Grantaire for now, but thank you.” Combeferre said with a genuine smile. 

“That’ll change soon! If you’re trying to yell angrily, it’s much easier to shout; “R, stop!” then “Prince Grantaire, stop!” 

Jehan appeared by his shoulder, his addition to the conversation making Courfeyrac burst out in laughter. He even saw Enjolras crack a tiny smile. 

“Jehan! You came back, yay!” Courfeyrac cheered. 

“We haven’t been introduced yet, I’m afraid.” Enjolras stuck out his hand to shake Jehan’s. 

“I’m Jehan! Pronouns they/them,” Jehan grinned happily, taking Enjolras’ hand enthusiastically. “And this is Heket, pronouns are slightly foggy, but I have it on good authority from a lizard that he prefers he/him.” 

“Well it’s very nice to meet you Jehan, and you too Mister Hecket.” Enjolras added, leaning down to smile at the frog. 

“Are you very fond of eagles?” Jehan asked Enjolras abruptly. Grantaire felt his eyes roll. 

“Uh, eagles? I suppose. Yes?” The blond said, glancing at Grantaire with a question in his eyes. 

“Jehan will have to show you their eagle/frog trick at some point, but for now,” He said quickly, before Jehan could explain how it wasn’t a trick. “Someone needs to show me where I can get a drink.”

“That I can do!” A voice boomed from behind him, so loud it made him jump. How many damn Eteladian’s were there?

Grantaire spun around, coming face to face with a large man dressed in Eteladian armor. The same man Chetta had gotten caught up in conversation with. 

“I’m Bahorel. Eteladian guard. And you’re Grantaire, the bar-fighter, I hear?” 

Before he could speak, Enjolras gasped. 

“Bahorel! That’s not--”

“Oh, yeah. He’s correct,” He turned to Enjolras, smiling at the scandalized look on his pretty face. 

Gods, he would address these feelings later, but for now, he needed to push them down. Enjolras is not pretty, he’s not. He’s also totally lying, but that’s for future Grantaire to deal with. 

“I’ve gained quite the reputation in Lendaveth.” He finished, turning back to Bahorel, who was still grinning despite Enjolras’ obvious fury. 

“I can show ya’ some tricks if ya’ were wanting! But for now, let’s get a drink.” Bahorel clutched his shoulders and hauled him towards a small waiter carrying glasses of wine. 

He saw Enjolras stare at Bahorel’s back, dumbfounded for a second, before turning back towards Jehan and continuing their conversation. 

*

He’d definitely be seeing more of Bahorel. He’d already agreed to take some defense lessons from him sometime in the next week, which to be honest, he wasn’t quite sure he remembered agreeing to. But regardless, the guy treated R like a real person and was, frankly, the most fun person he’d met while at the kingdom. So he couldn’t complain. 

He should also mention, the guy could drink. 

Yep, they were cut from the same stone; him and Bahorel. 

Through Bahorel, he’d also gotten to meet Feuilly, the steward of the castle. Bahorel and Feuilly were best friends, but Feuilly was decidedly more serious than the former. Grantaire couldn’t blame him, as being in charge of an entire castle’s inner workings sounded like a thankless, and full time, job. He was proven correct, as midway through a pleasant conversation about the weather he and Feuilly had been having, the latter had to rush away without a goodbye to check on how dinner was coming. 

“He does that.” Bahorel had remarked gruffly. 

From there, he’d been transferred back to the dutiful watch of Cosette, who decided it would be a good idea to introduce him to the ladies of the court. They flapped their fans and batted their eyelashes, and he found them dreadfully dull. Luckily, Cosette could sense this and had whisked him away to meet another set of ambassadors and advisors, all of their names forgotten. 

Once dinner had arrived, he’d been seated with Chetta on his left and Éponine on his right. Unfortunately for him, Chetta was busy answering questions from a starstruck Courfeyrac and Éponine got thoroughly interrogated by a very old looking advisor. 

His dinner mainly consisted of making eye-contact with Enjolras, who sat across from him, and awkwardly blushing. If anyone noticed, they were nice enough not to comment. 

They’d all partaken in dances after the dinner was cleared, sans Chetta, who preferred to watch from the sidelines. He waltzed a few dances with Cosette, as had Éponine and Enjolras, as tradition required. Cosette took the lead, explaining that her mother had never let her father lead the dances, and she wanted to carry on that tradition. He admired her for that. After Cosette, he asked a few ladies of the court to join him. They were dull to talk to, but they enjoyed dancing, and that was enough for him. Somehow Jehan had persuaded him to join them in a quickstep, and Courfeyrac taught him a fast dance with lots of footwork. He then needed a break, and went to sit, content to watch for a while.

He saw Combeferre lead Courfeyrac, who had just gotten done doing an energetic dance with Jehan, in a slow, romantic waltz that left the room speechless. He wasn’t a sappy person, but even he could tell how in love they were. 

Bossuet dragged Joly, literally dragged him, to the center of the ballroom for a dance. Chetta had looked lovingly at them before someone dropped a glass, causing a shout, and she was back on her guard. 

Bahorel went from lady to lord to lady to lord, occasionally even taking a serving attendant and leading them in a wild dance. Everyone seemed to enjoy the antics Bahorel was causing, all except Feuilly, who Grantaire could see out of the corner of his eye, as Feuilly was scowling at Bahorel during each of his dances. It was odd… 

But before he could think about that any longer, a nimble hand came to rest on his shoulder. At first he’d thought it was Éponine’s; she had slender fingers like this hand, but the digits he was looking at were milkier and bonier than hers. 

“Prince Grantaire, I was wondering if I could have this next dance,” 

Oh Gods save him. 

“As a royal of the host kingdom, I’d feel as if I wasn’t completing my princely duty if I didn’t ask you. It’s certainly within your right to say no.” Enjolras added quickly, looking strangely determined with his eyebrows furled. 

“Well, we can’t have your “princely duties” be left unfulfilled, can we?” Grantaire asked after a brief pause. Enjolras smiled. 

With that, Enjolras led him in a tempoed waltz. He felt upsettingly happy about the other princes’ grip around his waist, and flexed the fingers resting on Enjolras’ shoulder. Their eyes met and he felt his grin widen, especially so when Enjolras blushed slightly. 

The song ended much too fast in his opinion, but after they exited the center of the ballroom, Enjolras asked him if he wanted some air. Grantaire nodded speedily. They left, not before Éponine could shoot him a raised eyebrow, before she herself was whisked away by a laughing Bahorel. 

“I found this place when I was 11. The ballroom felt much too crowded, and I realized I needed to find a space I could sneak away to.” Enjolras had said, walking briskly and with purpose, with Grantaire in tow. 

They came to a tiny door, one that Enjolras; being a few inches taller than Grantaire, had to get on all fours to crawl through. But once they made it through the door, Grantaire gasped. 

He could see every light that was lit in the surrounding city. It was beautiful. The sun was long set, but glinting stars met his eyes as he turned his head upward. Twinkling city lights mirrored the twinkling stars in the black sky. The moon was raised, it was only a sliver, but still managed to illuminate as far as his eyes could see.

The beams from the moon cascaded silvery light on Enjolras’ face. His light eyelashes were accentuated and his lips parted as he looked down upon the city. 

Enjolras turned to him, the glance he sent to R’s lips was not lost. Their faces were close, so close, too close. He smelled the faint scent of chamomile and vanilla. It was warm and spicy and strangely…right? 

Suddenly, Enjolras’ finger was touching his face, touching the small mole above his lip. 

But as quickly as it was there, it left. Enjolras jerked his hand back, like he’d been burned. 

“I’m so sorry! That was very unprofessional of me and inconsiderate--”

Grantaire, his heart making a decision which did not consult his brain, ran his finger over the lower pad of Enjolras’ lips quickly, before gently putting it down. 

“Now we’re even.”

Enjolras blushed.

They talked of Lendaveth, the rolling hills and mucky swamps. Enjolras ate up every one of his words. Grantaire explained his love for drawing and horse-riding. Enjolras told him a story about Courfeyrac and a pony when they were small. They laughed. Enjolras’ eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed. It was very good, very perfect. 

R really shouldn’t jinx things like he does.

One would almost think he was as unlucky as Bossuet, an inside joke his Lendaveth family had. 

“One day I will change this.” Enjolras whispered, after they finished laughing over R’s story about his sister's haircut she gave herself when she was 13, his eyes shining. 

“Change what? People’s ability to give themselves a haircut?” He asked, a smile still plastered on his face. 

“This whole…this whole system!” Enjolras stood up, arms extended towards the city. “We need a change. The people need a voice. They need to be able to have their views represented with the government. I’ve heard them talking. I’ll do that for them. I can be that voice.” 

“I hate to be a buzzkill here, but you’re a prince,” He responded, matter-of-factly, still with an uncomfortable grin. Enjolras turned towards him suddenly, his entire focus now on Grantaire. “You benefit from this system. You’re rich. There’s people out there with nothing…it--it’s too big a divide.” He finished, shortly. 

“No,” Enjolras said, his face darkening and his eyebrows furrowing. “I can help the people. We can change the entirety of what our society is built on. One day the labor of workers and royals will be equal, and their achievements will be uniform. The people will have a voice in government and the ability to change laws and doctrines!” 

At this, Grantaire openly scoffed. He must be joking! He couldn’t be this delusional. But Enjolras pressed on, his fury mounting with every word. “We should implement an elected official and--”

“You must be joking! An elected official? You do realize it’s almost impossible to cage a beast once you’ve given it a taste of freedom, right?” 

“So you are a believer in having the people rot under the oppression of injustice we have left them to?”

“I am a believer in the ugliness of man.”

“The ugliness of man?” Enjolras sneered. “What about the ugliness of the classist system? What about the ugliness of our economic structure that doesn’t allow for people to raise themselves from their station!?”

“Ha! You’ve proven my point! Did you hear yourself? ‘Their station’, so you admit everyone has a role to play in this, so called, ‘classist system’? Everyone has their role and that’s how the world has existed for thousands of years. Do not call for revolution because you feel bad about the role you’re supposed to play!”

Enjolras seethed. “That is not why I call for revolution. That’s not why I call for a change!”

“You feel bad, it’s understandable,” Grantaire lowered his voice. This was getting out of control. “There’s someone out there who gets up at dawn to slaughter the chickens we feast on. Another knits the clothes we wear. But that’s all a part of how the world survives. We need classes. If we don’t have that, if the monarchy isn’t in place, a newer and, possibly, eviler person will rise to fill the slot! Just like if the butcher was to die, another butcher would fill his place.” 

Rather than calm him down, Enjolras seemed to find more fuel in this argument. He started up once again, ranting about the inherent goodness of people and the fundamental rights each was guaranteed.

Yes, Grantaire thought he was wrong, so very, very wrong, but the fire he radiated wasn’t lost on him. 

“--and you talk of spoiled, rich princes! Are you not one as much as I am? You live in the same splendid ignorance as I do, apparently even more so! A cynic incapable of belief, an abhorrence!” Enjolras spit. 

Well, he wasn’t going to let that by. He’d listened to Enjolras’ pointless rant for long enough. 

Enjolras didn’t know him. He didn’t know Grantaire was the son of a whore, as Javert had mentioned many a time. 

He didn’t know that Grantaire’s royal status, his life, his family, could be taken away with one swoop. 

Yes, Grantaire understood the ugliness of man.

He was a living example. 

“You do not know me! Do not pretend you do,” Grantaire stood, pleased to see the surprised look that crossed Enjolras’ face. “This is an unfortunate arrangement Prince Enjolras. I am engaged to your sister, and you mine. I don’t think there’s any reason we need to be anything more than distant acquaintances.” 

Something crossed Enjolras’ face, a slight hurt. It didn’t make R feel better, as he thought it would. 

As soon as his face betrayed him, Enjolras corrected it. His eyes narrowed and lips formed a thin line. 

“I suppose you’re right. I won’t speak to you outside of normal decencies.”

Grantaire gave a curt nod, before turning and exiting the outside nook, crouching to get through the small door. 

He needed to find his sister and Jehan and Chetta and Joly and Bossuet. He needed something that felt like home. 

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he jogged down the corridor. 

Fuck this city, and this arrangment and the tiny bit of hope he’d felt around Enjolras. 

Especially fuck that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love just writing continuous Grantaire gay panic. 
> 
> Next chapter we get a nerdy & lovey Combeferre POV, hip hip hooray!
> 
> Also to everyone commenting, I fucking appreciateeee youuuu! All the humans that read this are my fucking favorite. 
> 
> I'm getting all sappy and I'm tired and I'm venting on my AO3 and not Tumblr like a normal person, let me liveeeee


	10. Sunflowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to morning time with Combeferre and Courfeyrac. 
> 
> In other news, the boys are going to be fabulous goat parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A POV from none other than Mr. Combeferre himself! 
> 
> I hope this is acceptable! I know the plot isn't necessarily furthered for e/R in this chapter, but now we have a new storyline to pay attention to! 
> 
> Yay for 3,000 fluffy words of Combeferre and Courfeyrac adulting.

Sunlight was streaming in through the windows as he blinked awake; the pale blue curtains doing nothing to diminish its brightness. The sunbeams were not quite parallel with the floorboards, meaning the sun was still being slightly obstructed by the oak tree outside their window. Using his common knowledge of the sun's angle in the sky at every hour mark, and factoring in the oak tree’s position in comparison, he concluded it was around 6:30 in the A.M. 

This new information also led him to surmise that he should stay absolutely still, because if he woke the sleeping lump next to him at this hour, it was a certain death wish. 

His powers of deduction were untouchable! 

Judging Courfeyrac’s past actions, he wasn’t bound to wake up for another hour. His daily guarding assignments were always given at the beginning of the fortnight and they were not changed unless something truly unordinary was happening. A war, Gods forbid, for example.

This week, all of his hallway patrols were scheduled from 8:30 A.M. to 12:30 P.M. and 2:30 P.M. to 5:30 P.M. He also had a perimeter ride tomorrow that would replace his second shift. 

Combeferre, of course, had memorized his schedule. 

Courfeyrac had very agreeable shifts; he didn’t have to work at night or early in the morning, and his lunch break was curiously at the same time as Combeferre’s. No doubt Enjolras had something to do with it, but he would never mention that to his little knight. Courf had chalked it up to luck, and one would have to be a cruel villain to tell him otherwise.

He felt something—basic common sense would indicate it was Courfeyrac—wriggle closer into his side. This was followed by some string of words being mumbled into his bare chest where Courf’s face was pressed. 

“Do I want to ask what you said?” He questioned the mound of blankets, fighting the urge to break into a fit of laughter over how horrid a morning person Courfeyrac was. 

He was only met with another sleepy mumble. 

“Alright, well if you don’t wish to talk…I suppose I shall lull you back into sleep.” He reached the arm that Courf had not sandwiched between their bodies over to his bedside table to grab an old, decrepit book. He cleared his throat, “The most commonly known difference between Lepidoptera and Rhopalocera is the fact that Rhopalocera, especially from the superfamily Papilionoidea—from the genus ‘Papilio’—are diurnal…”

“I was telling you to stop thinking so loud! You woke me up with your brain.” Courfeyrac whined, rubbing his eyes vigorously, before shooting him an angry glare. 

“Well hello there, shortstack. Good morning and I love you, to you as well.” He grinned, removing a fluttering butterfly—Rhopalocera—from Courf’s wild brown curls. How these butterflies survived, he could only guess. He’d have to ask Jehan.

The butterfly glided off his finger and out the open window, no doubt to find the Seer. Being a man of science, Combeferre thought Jehan was an anomaly. There was so much to learn from them, something him and his fellow workers in the apothecary would indubitably disagree on, unfortunately. 

He would convince them otherwise, that would be his plan for today. 

It was wildly fun to make plans!

“Hi there beanstalk. Good morning, and I love you.” His lover muttered, snuggling back into his chest, eyes closed but undoubtedly awake. 

“Last night was fun,” He paused, thinking for a moment. “Do you know why Enj was upset? He wouldn’t talk to me after he disappeared with Prince Grantaire.” 

“ ‘M not sure. Pro’lly left him with blue balls or sumpin’.” 

Courf really did have the worst grammar in the morning. His brain told him it was preposterous that someone’s ability to speak in the proper way would be influenced by the hour of day, but his heart reminded him it was a rather cute quality, so he dropped it. 

He chuckled to himself, placing his well-loved copy of; From Appleworms to Zallutes: A Guide to Winged Bugs by Master Margrave Giraut, back on his bedside table. 

Before his hand could find its way back under the blanket, it was grabbed and positioned in the soft nest of mushroom brown curls to his left. Using his collection of ever-growing Courfeyrac knowledge, he concluded that it was now his job to play with his partners’ hair. 

“Bossy, bossy…” Ferre muttered with a smile, nevertheless obeying orders. 

“Ugh, I know. I’m a treat, aren’t I?”

Combeferre hummed his agreement, his mind becoming warily aware of Courfeyrac pressing light kisses to his uncovered bicep. 

“You looked so handsome last night,” The smaller man started, reading the way his breath had hitched. “I wanted to rip you out of that bloody tunic.” 

“Indeed?” He mumbled. His throat feeling dry; so very, very dry all of a sudden. 

Courfeyrac tossed his body upwards, gracefully falling to straddle Combeferre’s hips. His eyes narrowing mischievously, his lips now dangerously close to Ferre’s ear. 

“Indeed.” 

“Oh Gods—” Was all he got out before his lips were caught in a passionate kiss. His fingers tangled in Courf’s hair, as he felt the soft hands of his partner roam across the expanse of his naked chest. 

Courfeyrac had a sort of way with his hands. A special way.

Ferre had checked, they were no different than any other hands, he’d made sure of it.

He had stealthily conducted research comparing the hands of his coworkers to the hands of his boyfriend. Or, at least, he had thought he was being stealthy.

After a particularly long research session, Courfeyrac had flat out asked him if he had a hand kink. 

“No judgement,” Fey had said. “I do have magic fingers, you know.” 

That led to a very, very interesting night 

The capillaries in his face widen just thinking about it! But Courf would just say he was blushing. 

Bringing his mind back to the present, the kisses Fey was pressing onto his chest turned into a quick succession of light bites down his stomach as he was wriggled out of his silk sleeping trunks. 

Oh, and he may mention…what Courfeyrac could do with his self-proclaimed “magic fingers” he could do doubly well with his mouth. 

Ferre was a lucky man, in more ways than one. 

Halfway through the process of pulling Courfeyrac’s sleeping gown off, they must have been too focused to hear the door open, an awkward cough sounded from their entry way. 

It made them both jump. A strangled, detested sound left Fey’s throat as he was forced to pull away, and Combeferre’s eyes fell on a very nervous looking attendant standing in the doorway holding a large pot of water. The attendant, Ferre hadn’t seen him before, had his eyes trained on the floor in a very polite manner. 

“What?!” Courf barked, crossing his arms in front of his chest, clearly upset about being interrupted. A strange swell of pride settled in his chest. 

“I’m sorry Sir’s, it—it’s 7:00. I was told to fill the flower vases,” He stammered out, looking near death.

After a moment of covering himself and a very disgruntled Fey, Combeferre smiled at him; a sign to begin. 

“Of course you were, we apologize, we should have remembered.” 

Courfeyrac flopped next to him, sighing as he went, as the attendant hurried to fill the vases. 

He was very quick about it, and Combeferre said a sincere ‘thank you’ to him as he left, before turning to Courf. 

“What I wouldn’t give to have extremely passionate, uninterrupted morning sex with you…damn this place!” His little nose was scrunched as he spoke, his eyes narrowing towards the entrance to their room. He looked ready to beat that door to a pulp; it was quite adorable. 

“Come here.” Combeferre said softly, opening his arms. 

“Oh Ferre, I’m not really in the mood anymore—”

“Me neither. There’s nothing like being walked in on by an attendant that looks close to vomiting to put it right out of you. I just want to hold you.” 

Courf smiled, his murderous gaze turning from the door and relaxing on Combeferre. 

They cuddled in silence for a bit. From the shadows casting themselves across their intertwined legs, he guessed it was around 7:30. 

Despite being ‘out of the mood’, Courf couldn’t resist mouthing at his neck; sucking gently to leave little pink marks that would fade in an hour. Their fingers were locked together, his thumb stroking Courfeyrac’s. It was so very domestic and sweet, that it got him thinking…

“You know there’s a way we could have extremely passionate, uninterrupted morning sex. I’ve been thinking.”

His partner hummed into his shoulder, biting gently into the flesh, “That never happens.” 

He laughed quietly, it sounded odd to his own ears. He was much more nervous than he intended to be.   
“I was going to suggest, and it’s perfectly within your right to say no, but I was going to suggest we look for a cottage. To live in, if that wasn’t clear.” He added awkwardly, the capillaries in his face widening a second time that morning. 

Courf remained silent, so he continued, grabbing a large stack of papers from a drawer in his bedside table. 

“I was going to make it a surprise, but then I wasn’t sure if you’d even want to move somewhere besides the castle. I have some places for us to look at, if you would like. They’re all within walking distance, and it would be perfect, so we could—of course—continue working in the castle. I looked for cottages with two to three bedrooms, in case we wanted, and I know we haven’t discussed it, but in case we ever had children. We could also just convert them into spare bedrooms that my sisters could stay in when they visit. This one,” He gestured to a piece of paper with scribbled notes on it. “Has room where we could raise goats, I know how you love them. But this one,” Another gesture to another paper. “Is located near a creek, and I know you love the sounds of water when falling asleep, so that’s an option—”

A light kiss was pressed to his lips, silencing him for the time being. 

When they pulled apart, Combeferre could see tears tracking down Courfeyrac’s face. 

And tears equal sadness, which was not an emotion Courfeyrac should be feeling now. If Courfeyrac was sad, then he said something wrong and—

“They’re happy tears, beanstalk! I can see you thinking about it, so stop!” Courf gave a wet laugh. “Of course I’ll move into a cottage with you, Gods!” 

“Oh Fey,” He clasped his hand to the side of Courf’s face. “I was thinking we go look at one on our lunch break today, if that’s acceptable and you had no prior plans.” 

“Of course, yes! I can’t wait!” He exclaimed, smiling brighter than Combeferre had ever seen him do in the early hours of the morning. 

“There’s only one thing, I haven’t—I haven’t told Enj yet. I had Cosette help me find suitable cottages.” 

“Oh we’ll get to that blond fool,” An endearment he knew Courf meant dearly. “Later! In fact, I think I may, and I know he’s not a fan of Grantaire right now, but I think I have an idea to give him everlasting happiness and joy.” 

Ferre laughed, of course Courfeyrac did. He had an idea for everything. 

“But for now,” Courf continued. “For now, let me bask in my own joy,” He giggled. “I love you so much, Mr. Future Property Owner.”

“I love you too, shortstack,” He swatted Fey on his thigh. “Now get up. You need to wash your hair.”

“I washed it yesterday!”

“You had a butterfly in it all night.”

“So?”

“So,” He reached over to grab his tattered book on bugs. Courf couldn’t see him doing it. Perfect. “Insects in the Macrolepidopteran clade Rhopalocera can be designated pollinators for specific flowers in their habitual region—”

Courf leaped up with a shriek, tossing all sense of grace out the door. 

“Good Gods and all things spiritual! No, Ferre, no! No more from Master Gia-root, or whatever his name is! I’m going, I’m going! See? I’m going!” 

Ferre could—in fact—not see, due to tears leaking out of his eyes from how hard he was laughing. But he could hear. 

Over the sound of his own chuckles, the bathroom door slammed shut, and through it he heard Courf yell, “When we move, I’m burning that book in our fireplace!” 

Our. 

He could get used to hearing that. 

*

“Ready? It’s about a 10 minute walk.”

“Of course! Look, I put on my walking shoes for this.”

“Walking shoes” was a generous thing to call them. They were ugly yellow ankle boots that clashed entirely with Courf’s guarding outfit. 

“I see that.” 

He was so cute. He couldn’t wait to see those travesties of yellow ankle boots sitting on their front stoop, with a cheesy tapestry Cosette would—no doubt—knit for them. Couldn’t wait.

Currently—as they were walking arm in arm across a small, wooden bridge—Fey was explaining all about his morning; about how a golden hawk had flown into the great hall, followed by a skipping Jehan calling after it. 

“—and I could have sworn they called it Hecket! Hecket, Ferre! The name of the frog! That was probably the eagle/frog trick R was talking about.”

“So we’re calling him R now, are we?” He quirked an eyebrow, watching as Courf got a sheepish look on his face. 

“It’s easier! Also, I think Enj really did a number on him. Éponine was walking down the hallway with Chetta ranting about “R’s day drinking” or something like that.” 

“Oh Enj…”

“Oh Enj is right! Tonight we need to talk to him and ask what happened at that party. He’s been sulking all day too, Cosette was telling me that—” Suddenly Courf stopped dead in his tracks, causing Combeferre to lurch backward. Momentum was such a new and interesting concept! 

It was perfectly clear why he stopped. Their destination was now in view, nestled snugly between four large trees. 

The cottage was a light shade of green with rust colored trim and a door, and a dark-grey roof. Small baskets sat pertly on the window sills, holding petite white flowers, and one couldn’t help but notice the green vines snaking their way up the left side of the house. 

Surrounding the entire plot was a short—it didn’t even reach his chest—wooden fence. They could certainly paint it white, as Fey had always expressed his desire for a white fence. That was, if Fey even liked the look of this place at all. 

“We’d have to clear some of the brush away. It’s rather wild, isn’t it?” Ferre commented when Courf said nothing. “Of course, if you don’t like the look of it, we don’t have to stay,” No answer. He finally turned to look at the curiously quiet person beside him. “Courf?” 

“Ferre…it’s perfect. Just—I, I need a moment.” Unshed tears filled Courfeyrac’s eyes as they scanned the scene in front of them. He looked pensive—like he was under a spell—for a moment, before a wide grin broke over his face. “Ok! Moment over. Lead me to our bedroom, where we can have all the passionate, uninterrupted—OOF!” 

Before he could finish his sentence, Ferre had scooped him up, bridal style, and began to carry him towards the red door. 

If any nosy neighbors had been eavesdropping, hoping to hear some interesting details about the perspective buyers, all they would be entreated to was a series of happy giggles coming from Courfeyrac. 

Which—in Ferre’s book—was much, much better.

*

“—and then we can put the goats here! I want the little spotted ones, where do you even get those? Do you think there’s an adoption process? They’ll love us, we’ll be fabulous goat parents! Oh! Look at that! That’s where we can have our herb garden…Jehan was telling me about this new spice that can change your hair color! Oh—don’t look at me like that, it’s perfectly safe... I think. But, oh Ferre! We can set up a table here! We could have tea in the evenings and watch our goats and—” 

Courfeyrac was talking a mile a minute, waving his hands wildly throughout the air, before Combeferre had grabbed him from behind and bent down to bury his face in the crook of his neck. 

“This is only the first place! I’ve done research on five others!”

“No, Ferre this is the place! Look, we could put in a veggie garden. You could grow those rainbow carrots you love, and potatoes and dill! And I could put in some sunflowers—”

“You want to put in sunflowers?”

“Yes! I love sunflowers! They’re bright, and happy, and—you know—yellow’s my favorite color. My mom, when she would write, would send me sunflower petals as a reminder of where I used to live.”

“Of your home?” Ferre tried to clarify, absently, as he examined the exterior of a small shed that came with the property. 

Courf looked suddenly serious, prompting Ferre to meet his gaze.

“No. This is now my home. Wherever you are, that’s where my home is.”

He let a beat of silence pass, letting that sink in. His chest filled with a warm, fuzzy feeling. 

“Of course,” He leaned down to give Courfeyrac a loving kiss, hoping that conveyed his emotions. “We’ll put in sunflowers.” 

As he said, for all his common sense, Courfeyrac made him go all mushy inside. 

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all you C^2 diehards, I hope I've done them justice. 
> 
> They'll be more chapters focused solely on them in the future, mainly because writing about people buying a house together, and unpacking, and becoming literal baby goat parents (which, can we lie? is totally something Courf would do.) is my kink. 
> 
> But, for all you e/R slow burn diehards, we shall be getting back to those two losers in the next chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for reading:)


	11. *UPDATE*

*UPDATE*

Hello!! Not probably what you were expecting, and for that I’m sorry. 

I just wanted to write a quick little thingy explaining to all of you why I won’t necessarily be updating for a couple of weeks. This is because I value all of you that read my work—even if it’s just a couple people;)—and I want to give you a heads up.

As a white member of the LGBTQIA+ community, I have lived a privileged life. I myself have been lucky enough to live in a time after the Stonewall Riots, who’s brave queer activists (many of who were black and brown) gave us our modern rights. I recognize that not all people of my situation have had it easy, and many LGBTQIA+ kids—unfortunately—can not live their truths out of fear, but I do acknowledge that ALL white people benefit from white privilege and the institutionalized racism that plagues our country. Police brutality cannot, and WILL NOT, be tolerated anymore. It absolutely unjustly affects the black community and all POC's. 

Because of this, I need to put my efforts towards fighting alongside black and all POC people for what’s right. 

My state is particularly active when it comes to protesting, and in the past week, I’ve been able to attend many peaceful, and (not entirely peaceful) marches. Don’t worry, at all the rallies people are passing out flyers that state our rights as protestors and what to do if you get arrested! 

Last night, we had a particularly peaceful rally and our curfew was lifted. Yay! 

All of this to say, I won’t be sitting down and writing in long busts until I have the time. It will probably be a couple (2-3) weeks before you can expect an update. I don’t mean to say that in a couple of weeks the fight for equality will be over—not at all—but as I chip away at writing for short amounts of time, that is when I could see a chapter being finished. 

This is an extremely important time in our history. We cannot waste this moment. 

Remember, Pride started as a riot! 

Also, happy Pride Month everyone! A bit of good news, I came out to three of my closest friends and they’re super cool! I haven’t come out to my parents quitteee yet, but they 100% know. Once you buy the Neutrogena Pride Edition face wipes, I’m pretty sure it becomes damn clear. 

Anyway, my Tumblr blog is downton-shabby (SO original, I know), if you have any feelings about anything or anything you’d like to tell me, I am so down to listen. Use the ask feature or whatever, it’s all good! I’m WAY more active about this movement on my personal Instagram, and if you would like to connect on there, please let me know through my Tumblr. 

This is what our babies in Les Amis de L’ABC would’ve wanted. You can make a difference! Let’s use our platforms and privilege to help! Let’s all make Enjolras proud. 

I hope everyone remains safe and healthy while protesting. 

And if you can't physically protest, please spread information, sign petitions, donate, and learn. https://www.refinery29.com/en-us/2020/06/9851225/black-lives-matter-how-to-help-donate-support >> that's an article with lots of useful information. 

I adore all of you, 

~A 

Black Lives Matter.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments make this tea drinking socialist smile!! 
> 
> Hope you all are having a lovely time, and thank you for checking out my ridiculous train of thought that somehow ended up being written about. Kudos to you!


End file.
